


In the Eye of the Beholder

by TheScarletAngel



Series: All the Madness We Share [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Bittersweet Ending, Child Abuse, Drama & Romance, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Origin Story, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 30,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26161450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletAngel/pseuds/TheScarletAngel
Summary: Who was Jonathan Crane before he was the Scarecrow? Amber Connery knows. What did the eyes of the Scarecrow's childhood friend see? Amber Connery saw a troubled boy. Where did the troubled, but still innocent boy go? Amber Connery couldn't say.*Borrows elements from the comics, The Dark Knight Trilogy, and the Arkham Series**I own none of the songs. All lyrics belong to their respective owners*
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Original Female Character(s)
Series: All the Madness We Share [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899754
Comments: 41
Kudos: 27





	1. The Introduction

_Everyday here you come walkin’_

_I hold my tongue I don’t do much talkin’_

_-Sad Eyes (Bruce Springsteen)_

That boy walked by my house every day after school. His dark brown hair hung limply around his face. It desperately needed cutting. Every so often I’d get a glimpse of piercing blue eyes. They weren’t eyes that someone would necessarily find nice to look into. Actually, they weren’t nice eyes to look in at all. They were cold and calculating. They were eyes you would see on an older, hardened person. Not on a twelve-year-old boy. They were eyes you would see on someone who cared about no one. They shouldn’t have been the eyes on a twelve-year-old boy.

I think those eyes are what drew me to him. Those hard and icy eyes. Those haunted eyes.

Every day I’d want to stop watching him walk by from my window and instead go out to talk to him. I never did. I continued to watch him walk by. At school, it was the same way. He’d walk by, and I’d watch him walk alone. He always was alone.

Unless he was being harassed by bullies.

But even when he was being harassed, I said nothing. I did nothing. I watched him get hurt. I don’t know why I always stood by. Maybe because it was all I was good at. Being quiet and watchful. 

That was, without a doubt, the first mistake I made with the boy known as Jonathan Crane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Jonathan Crane story. It is completed and I have already started a second book, so updates should be frequent. I tried my best, and really hope I did justice to him with my interpretation of the character. I hope someone finds some joy in this, since I do still consider myself an amateur writer.
> 
> By the way, sorry about the short first chapter. Most of them are longer.


	2. October 1989

_Even if we can’t find Heaven, I’ll walk through Hell with you_

_Love you’re not alone, cause I’m gonna stand by you._

_-Stand by You (Rachel Platten)_

I was working on a math assignment underneath a lone oak tree that sat on a hill when I heard a scream. 

There were at least three male voices, all seemingly laughing and cheering at something. Then there was a cry of pain from a different male. Slowly my head raised from the algebra assignment I was working on. Another shout came from somewhere down the hill I was sitting on. They didn’t sound too far away. Whoever it was sounded like they were in pain. I lowered my head again, trying to ignore it. Another scream came. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Quickly I shoved my assignment and book into my messenger bag and started off toward the noise. As I thought, not far off, four boys were walking away, led by their self-proclaimed leader Bo Griggs. A form was on their knees behind them, obviously the victim. Someone I knew by name only. A frequent target of Bo’s. Jonathan Crane.

I made my way over to him slowly, unsure of whether or not I should bother him. My feet made the decision for me as they continued to walk nearer to him. He was picking up his scattered books. He winced each time he picked up a book. 

“Are you okay?” I quietly asked him. He stopped for a moment, then went about putting books into his bag. One of them lay at my feet. I bent down to pick it up. _The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe_ is what it said on the cover. I handed the book back to him. When he reached to take it from my hands, I noticed blisters on his hands that appeared new. Had Bo and his friends burned him?

“Thank you,” Jonathan mumbled. He looked at me for the slightest moment in which I offered a small smile. I turned to leave, paused, and turned back to him.

“You know, you’re welcome to join me by the tree on the hill,” I said, pointing to the tree where I’d been working. “I’m always there after school. They tend to stay away from me.”

“Why would being with you keep them away from me?” he asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Like he was afraid. 

Duh Amber, you freaking idiot. He was just assaulted, of course, he’s afraid. He’s afraid you’ll hurt him.

“I think they’re scared of me. They think I’m a witch and if they bother me, I’ll curse them or something,” I explained. Jonathan had finally stood up and now I had to arch my neck up to look at him. I’d never realized how tall he actually was.

“Why do they think you’re a witch?” he asked. His voice was still quiet, but he sounded less afraid.

“I’m a red-haired atheist,” was my simple answer. He nodded in understanding. Here in Arlen, Georgia, you were either a God-fearing Christian or the Devil incarnate. Most people called me the Devil’s handmaid.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” he asked as I was about to leave.

That was a good question. I barely knew this person. Why was I being so friendly to someone I hardly knew?

“Isn’t it easier to walk through Hell with someone than to walk alone?” I finally answered, looking directly into his icy eyes.


	3. December 1989

_I just want them to know_

_That I gave my all, did my best_

_Brought someone some happiness_

_-I Was Here (_ _Beyoncé )_

It was cold. It didn’t matter that I was living in Georgia. It was December and in December it could get cold. That meant I was cold. I hated being cold.

On days like this, I wouldn’t be found beneath my tree. I’d be at home, nestled in at least a dozen blankets and cursing how cold it was. Yet there I was, beneath my tree because I had a Christmas gift for Jonathan Crane. I didn’t know if he celebrated Christmas. I didn’t celebrate Christmas. I got him something nonetheless.

I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck. Where was he? I’d asked him if he would meet me here and he’d said yes. So where was he?

He finally showed up about five minutes later. I instantly felt bad about being impatient. His lip was split, and he had a bruise on his cheek. 

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’ll be fine. What do you want?” he answered. It came out rather rudely, but I let it slide. He probably never had someone actually want to see him. I glanced warily at his injuries but didn’t ask about them.

“This is for you. Merry Christmas,” I said while handing him a wrapped package. He took it hesitantly as if he was afraid to touch it.

“Why?”

“I consider us friends and isn’t this what friends do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never had any,” he admitted quietly. I sympathized with him. I’d never had a real friend either, as cliche as it sounded.

“Well go on. Open it,” I said. He hesitated again before starting to unwrap it. He did so slowly like he was afraid he would break it.

When he finally got it unwrapped and opened, he simply stared at it. In his hands lay a copy of _The Complete Works of Washington Irving._ It wasn’t a new copy, but a second copy I had owned. I watched as he turned it over in his hands.

“It’s not new, but it’s in better condition than the other one I have. I thought you'd like it because, well, you enjoy reading. And Irving is one of my favorite authors,” I explained.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “But I got you nothing.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I don’t celebrate the holiday anyway.”

We both stayed in our positions, neither of us moving. I noticed he was wearing a light sweater. He wasn’t even shivering. How could he stand the cold?

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Well, I am so I’ll be off,” I said. “Unless you want to come home with me?”

“No. I’ll be seeing you in a week,” Jonathan softly said. He turned from me and started walking away.

“See you in a week then, I guess. Merry Christmas Jonathan,” I whispered to his retreating form. I hoped he would be fine. I didn’t pray. I hoped.


	4. May 1990

_ It's funny that way, you can get used _

_ To the tears and the pain _

_ What a child will believe _

_ You never loved me _

_ -Oh, Father (Madonna) _

I waited under my tree for Jonathan. Well, I suppose it had become our tree. Objectively speaking, of course. I couldn’t own a tree.

It was funny to me. Eight months ago, Jonathan Crane was a mystery to me. Eight months ago I never imagined I would have ever been friends with him. Seven months ago that changed. And I don’t think I’d ever been happier.

“You’re late,” I said to him as he finally arrived.

“I had something I needed to do,” he answered.

“I’m mad at you now, you know,” I told him.

“What did I do this time?” 

“You didn’t talk to me all day. You ignored me. All day,” I said. I stuck my lower lip out to pout.

“I know. And I must say, it was very peaceful,” he responded.

“Hey,” I said as I lightly poked him with my elbow. I didn’t miss him wince.

“Happy birthday by the way,” he said absentmindedly.

“What?”

“It’s the 11th, isn’t it?”

I instantly sat up straighter.

“You’re joking. I completely forgot!” I exclaimed. He shook his head and laughed to himself. I think I heard him mutter ‘only you’ under his breath.

“Oh shut up. I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I said before shoving him playfully. He winced again.

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” I asked. He nodded. I dropped the subject.

“You know, since it is my birthday and you didn’t talk to me all day, I think you owe me.”

“What do you want?”

“You can help me with science.”

I listened carefully to him as he explained to me what I was supposed to do. I was horrible at science. It was something that made no sense to me. And after he explained it to me, I still didn’t get it.

“I don’t understand this at all,” I groaned after we had finally finished the assignment.

“Are you even passing the class?” he asked.

“Of course. I have a solid D+,” I announced proudly. He rolled his eyes before leaning back. Then he groaned.

“Hey, what’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing,” I warned. “You’re lying.”

“I’m fine Amber,” he said through his teeth. 

“No, you’re not! What’s wrong with your back?” 

“Nothing!”

“Stop lying! Please tell me what’s wrong!” I begged. I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain. 

He hesitated, but he turned his back to me. Slowly he raised his shirt and my breath caught in my throat. Deep scars littered his back. Some were longer than others, some were deeper than others. Some looked old while others looked new. I reached out to trace one of them with my fingertip. He shuddered at my touch.

“Who the hell did this to you?” I asked quietly. He didn’t answer. “Jonathan-”

“My grandmother, are you happy?” he snapped. He covered the scars again and turned back to me.

“No, I’m not happy! You have to tell someone!”

“No.”

“Then I’ll tell someone!”

“Absolutely not,” he snarled.

“You can’t let this-”

“You think I don’t know that! I can handle it. Do you understand? Stay out of it!” he snapped at me again. My eyes fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just-I hate seeing you hurt. You’re my best friend Jonathan. I don’t want you to be in pain. You don’t deserve it.”

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh. “I know what you’re like.. You’re always trying to help others. Let me deal with this on my own. You don’t need to get involved. I can handle it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Amber.”

We sat in silence for a time. I felt like I was going to cry. Jonathan was right; I was always trying to help people. Part of me hated the fact that not everyone wanted my help.

“You don’t deserve to be in pain either, Amber,” Jonathan said suddenly.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how you always make an effort to cover your arms? I’ve seen them. The purple spots on your arms. I’ve seen how you flinch when someone touches you. It’s hardly noticeable, but I’m observant and I’m not stupid. I’ve seen them. You were good at hiding them at first. I would never have guessed someone was hurting you. I know it’s your father who does it to you. Your mother is not present. No one dares bother you-”

“Please stop,” I interrupted. “ I can handle it. Anyway, it’s not all the time. It’s fine.”

If he could play that game, so could I.


	5. August 1990

_ Because Hell, Hell is for children _

_ And you know that their little lives can become such a mess. _

_ -Hell is for Children (Pat Benatar) _

“Were you in the chapel again?” I asked when Jonathan winced as his back touched the ground. He nodded.

The first time I had seen his scars, I hadn’t known what they were from. After much prodding from me, he finally told me where they came from. His grandmother put him into an older church and let the birds attack him. I almost vomited after hearing this confession.

It was disgusting.

“Your dad hurt you again,” he added. I noticed his gaze wandering to my wrist. I slid my sleeve higher.

“He was in a bad mood. I guess I said something he didn’t like. Anyway, he only grabbed me too tightly. Your grandmother puts you into an old church and lets birds tear your back apart,” I argued.

“Doesn’t make what your father does any better.”

“Dad isn’t always bad. He can actually be an amazing father. It’s only when he’s angry. Your grandmother is always a bitch,” I defended myself.

“I stand by what I said. It isn’t right for him to hurt you.”

“Look, I know! But most of the time he’s kind and caring and loving. So when he does hit me, I don’t do anything about it. Because it isn’t all the time!” I paused and said softly, “I can handle that.”

Jonathan didn’t respond. Instead, he asked his own question.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” he asked, turning to look at me.

“I have. But I probably won’t yet. I’d have nowhere to go. I’ll wait until I graduate. What about you?”

“I have no desire to stay here, but for the same reasons as you, I stay,” Jonathan said. I took in a breath and laid in the grass beside him.

“Jonathan, if either of us had the chance to leave, would we go together?” I asked.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t,” Jonathan answered lightly.

“Really, Jonathan. Would we go together?” I asked again. He breathed heavily.

“I can’t promise that I would go with you.”

Somehow I knew he would say that. Even though he tolerated me, I knew he preferred to be alone. I knew he wouldn’t always want me around. Even if it hurt to hear.

We lay silent in the grass for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes. I turned my head to look at Jonathan. He stared at the sky, probably wishing he could leave this God-forsaken place. I wish I could leave too.

“We’re kids, Jon. We shouldn’t be wishing we could leave yet,” I told him. “We shouldn’t be in Hell yet.”

“Hell’s for children, Amber. Didn’t you know that?” he answered.

I didn’t know that. But I agreed with him. Hell wasn’t for the sinners. Hell was for the innocent. Hell was for the ones who could do nothing but force themselves to keep fighting. Hell was for people like Jonathan and me.


	6. November 1990

_ Caught in the middle of a crossfire _

_ Lost my balance on a high wire _

_ Trying to figure out what to do _

_ Pushed to the edge of my reason _

_ Everywhere around me it's treason _

_ I don't want to do that to you _

_ -Sink or Swim (Tyrone Wells) _

“Jonathan!” I sang as the two of us walked together to my home. 

“What?” he answered. He sounded bored.

“You know what today is right?”

“Thursday?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s more important than that.”

“What could possibly be more important than the fact that today is Thursday?”

Sometimes Jonathan’s biting sarcasm annoyed me. This was one of those times that it was annoying.

“You’re infuriating. It’s your birthday! You’re sixteen now!”

“Yes, fantastic, isn’t it?” he asked dryly. He sounded almost regretful.

“Don’t sound like that, Jonathan. Can’t you smile about it even a little?”

“Why should I? It’s not as if anyone cares.”

I stopped walking. I moved in front of him to stop him.

“No one cares? Then what the hell am I doing?” I asked, only barely keeping my temper in check.

When he said things like that, it normally didn’t bother me. But after the conversation we’d had about leaving Georgia, where he had admitted he would willingly leave without me, I had doubts. I doubted he actually wanted to be around me. Even though he never said it aloud, I knew he was hesitant to remain by my side. I knew because it was in the way he spoke and in the way he acted.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Amber,” he tried to defend himself. I didn’t believe him.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I care about you? I’ve been there for you since we met, even when you didn’t want my help! Are you so thick-headed that you can’t understand that I care? I’ve kept your secret, even though I damn well shouldn’t be!” 

“Why are you doing it then?” he asked. There was no anger in his voice the way there was in mine. He was calm. He was in control of his emotions. I almost wished he would yell at me. It would be normal.

“Because you told me not to tell anyone! What do I have to do to get you to understand that you’re my friend and that I care?”

“There isn’t-” he sighed and stopped talking.

“Look, I know that you have received no kindness in your life from anyone. I’m trying to give you the kindness you never got. If you don’t want it, can you just tell me? You don’t have to stay with me if this isn’t what you want,” I said softly.

“It’s what you want.”

“You don’t really get the concept of a friend, do you? It has to be mutual. Yes, I do want to be your friend, but if it’s something you aren’t sure about, then that’s ok. I won’t force you to be in a situation you don’t want to be in.” 

Realization struck me.

“But that’s what I’ve been doing, isn’t it? Dragging you along with me when it’s something you don’t want. I mean, I can see that you don’t really want to be around me, but I keep coming around. If you don’t want me around, please just say it.”

“If I didn’t want to be around you, I wouldn’t be here. I do like you. You’re not forcing me to do anything,” Jonathan tried to assure me.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me, Amber. I’ll tell you if I get annoyed with you.”

“Fine. Now can you finish walking me home?”

He nodded and returned to my side. 

I still didn’t believe him.


	7. February 1991

_Did you ever love her?_

_Do you know?_

_Or did you never want to be alone?_

_-Jet Pack Blues (Fall Out Boy)_

I quietly sat alone in the school’s library. Jonathan wasn’t with me today. He was probably watching Sherry Squires from a distance, wishing she could be his. He recently started doing that often. Which meant I spent most of my time by myself. 

Not that I was angry that Jonathan had a crush on someone. In fact, if it was someone else, I would have been extremely happy for him. But his crush was Sherry Squires. Not only did she never even look Jonathan’s way, other than to sneer at him, but she was dating Bo Griggs. Bo Griggs was a frequent torturer of Jonathan’s. Why Jonathan would willfully endanger himself by trying to engage Sherry was beyond me.

Jonathan was usually smarter than that.

I gripped the pencil in my hand tighter. He wasn’t stupid, so why was he acting that way? It wasn’t jealousy making me so angry; I wasn’t in love with Jonathan. He was my best friend. He wasn’t anything more than that, and I didn’t want anything more than friendship.

The bell rang.

It was time for chemistry. 

How wonderful.

______________________________________________________________________________________

The school day ended, and I was walking out of the school alone for the first time in a long while. But I didn’t want to go home. Not today. Dad had been angry about something that morning. Chances were he was still upset. And today I wasn’t in the mood to piss him off even more.

“I suppose I should go to the library and start getting research for that English paper,” I muttered to myself.

The library was close to the school, but it seemed like hours before I got there. My feet moved slowly against the gravel road. And when I got there, my day got so much worse.

Bo Griggs and his group of friends were standing in front of the doors. I tried moving out of their line of sight before they could see me.

I was too slow.

“Hey, it’s Scarecrow’s witch friend!” one of his friends called. I froze, like an idiot.

“Connery! I got words for you!” Bo called to me.

“My name is Amber. What do you want?” I bravely said, turning to face him.

“Keep your creepy ass friend away from Sherry! Tell him he’d better stop staring at her or I’ll kill him, understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell him.”

I would tell him what Bo said. That didn’t mean Jonathan would listen. He was as stubborn as he was intelligent.

Bo gave me one more hard glance before turning back to his friends. I turned away from the library. Research could wait.

Guess I had to see if dear old Dad was still upset.

It wouldn’t surprise me if I had a new bruise on my arm later. But that would be alright.

It’d been almost a week since the last one.

I could live with a new bruise once in a while.

After all, it wasn’t all the time.


	8. March 1991

_ We were two dumb kids _

_ Full of hopes and fears _

_ Growing further and further apart _

_ -Not Easy (Alex Da Kid) _

A month. That was how long it had been since Bo had tried to scare me into making Jonathan stop staring at Sherry. I never did tell Jonathan what Bo said. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Jonathan never listened. At least, he never listened to me.

Today he was with me. It’d been the first time in a while. He seemed off, though. Like he wasn’t all with me. He was staring at one of the library’s walls.

“So, how’s your English paper coming?” I asked, though it sounded awkward.

“Fine,” he answered curtly.

“Oh, well, that’s good… I guess.”

Silence.

Jonathan wasn’t completely with me then. It seemed he was like this more often than not lately.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” I asked.

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?”

“You’re acting strange. You don’t talk to me much anymore, and you hardly spend time with me. And when we are together, you act like,” I paused, then waved my hands in his direction, “this.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind, Amber. I don’t mean to act as if something’s wrong.”

“Is it your grandmother?” Jonathan twisted toward me.

“No. I have no reason to fear her anymore,” Jonathan snapped. He took me off guard with his tone.

“Sorry, I just thought- you know what, I should go,” I said, quickly packing my books into my bag.

“Amber, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, but I should be on my way home.”

I swung my bag over my shoulder and left Jonathan alone in the library.

My feet moved quicker along the road than normal. All I wanted to do was get home, much to my surprise. I didn’t feel that often.

Dad was home, but he’d been in a good mood lately. I walked into the house to be greeted by the sight of my father watching the news.

“You’re home early. I expected you to be back later,” Dad said.

“I finished my stuff early and had nothing else to do,” I lied.

He grunted, telling me he heard me. I set my bag beside me as I sat next to my father on the couch. The news played a clip of a robbery gone violent that happened in Gotham.

“That city can’t go a day without some violent crime,” Dad said.

“That’s why they’re the crime capital of the United States.”

Neither of us said anything as the week’s forecast came on. I glanced at my father. He stared at the screen in front of him. This was the first time in a while we’d spent any time together that didn’t involve him yelling at me.

I counted myself lucky that my Dad didn’t drink or smoke. He didn’t do drugs, and he rarely cursed. He went to church, had a well-paying job, and helped maintain the house. As a single father, he had more responsibilities than a married man would have. In my eyes, his only flaw was his temper.

“Something’s wrong. Don’t tell me there isn’t, Amber,” my Dad suddenly said.

“It’s nothing.”

“It might be better if you tell someone what’s wrong.”

I sighed. I knew he would keep pushing until I told him something.

“Hypothetically, if you knew someone, like a friend, was hiding something from you, what would you do?”

“Hypothetically, what kind of thing are they hiding?” 

“Something that seems big. Like, they seem different from how they usually are,” I said, continuing to be vague.

“You’re talking about the Keeny boy, aren’t you?” my Dad caught on.

“He goes by Crane, but yeah. How did you know?” I asked, unaware he knew I was friends with Jonathan.

“He’s the sort of strange character I know you would be a friend to. But going back to your question, I would leave it alone. It’s most likely something that he needs to do on his own. If it wasn’t, I’m sure he would tell you.”

“I know I should, but I feel like he needs help that he won’t admit to.”

“You are a good person, Amber. He’ll come to you if he needs your help.”

“I guess. Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded, then returned his attention to the television. I settled back into the couch and stared at the screen. If only it was like this every day.


	9. April 1991

_ Just like that I'm crawling back to you _

_ Just like you said I would yeah _

_ Swallow my pride now I'm crawling back to you _

_ I'm out of my head can't wait any longer _

_ I'm down on my knees I thought I was stronger _

_ Just like that just like you said I'd do _

_ Yeah I'm crawling back to you _

_ -Crawling Back To You (Daughtry) _

I passed by Jonathan quickly as the final bell rang. Another month had gone by, and I had been following my father’s advice. I hadn’t been pushing Jonathan to tell me anything. In fact, I had hardly been talking to him at all. And it was killing me. 

“Amber, wait!” Jonathan called. I paused, but I didn’t stop for long. I kept walking. I made it half a mile before Jonathan called to me again.

“Stop!” 

I froze. Jonathan’s voice had stopped me. It wasn’t just a shout. It sounded like a growl.

“What?” I asked quietly. He reached me quickly due to his long legs.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“You always seem upset when I’m around, so I thought-”

“You thought it would be better to make me feel terrible, right?”

“No! That’s not what I meant to do!” I looked Jonathan in the eyes. They were cold as ice. He was trying to make me feel guilty. He was trying to manipulate me. I think he was, at least.

“What did you try to do then?” he asked.

“I wanted to give you some space to figure things out. I felt that it would be easier for you if you had time to think things over without me bothering you.”

The words ‘or making you angry’ were left unsaid.

“Well, then you’ll be happy to know that I’ve figured things out. I’ve missed you, Amber. I miss talking to you. You’re the only one in this hell worth my time,” Jonathan said. Though the words sounded sincere, his tone still seemed dark. He still seemed upset.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan. I really am. It killed me not talking to you,” I admitted.

“You’re forgiven.”

I didn’t feel forgiven.

“Take me home then?” I asked.

“I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since I missed yesterday's update and this is a short chapter, there will be two updates today! So sorry, and I hope the two I post are enjoyable for all of you!


	10. September 1991

_She takes the long way home_

_Fighting her emotions_

_She's a loner_

_But today she won't go unnoticed_

_-Bully (Three Days Grace)_

Jonathan was no doubt a genius in chemistry. He could figure out chemical equations faster than even the teacher could sometimes. I, on the other hand, couldn’t do anything related to the stupid subject. If it was any science, I lost all of my brain cells. My streak of Ds in the class could prove that. That’s how I came about begging Jonathan to tutor me at my house.

“Please, Jonathan!” I pleaded as we walked the school’s halls to our next class. “I can’t afford to fail! Working at my house would be easiest! Dad’s leaving the house for a while so he won’t bother us. I’d sit outside, but it’s cold today! I’m small! You know my five foot two and 105-pound body can’t take the cold! And I’m not allowed on your property. Come on, please? You remember what happened last time I stepped foot on your property.”

His grandmother chased me away. For such an old woman, she could move pretty quickly.

“Fine! But you’d better hope the old crone doesn’t find out. She barely lets me spend time with you as it is,” Jonathan gave in.

“Thank you!” I cried in relief. He shrugged, which was as good as a ‘you’re welcome.’

“Why does your grandmother hate me so much, anyway?”

“She believes the rumors you’re a witch. She thinks you’re a seductress, tempting my lust and sin.”

“Better be careful then. You’ll be in my domain. It’ll be easier to tempt you,” I teased. Jonathan let out an annoyed sigh while shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide the small smile that adorned his lips.

A few hours later I was walking home alone. Jonathan had chores to finish and then he’d be over. He said he would anyway. If the bitch didn’t stop him.

I passed by Bo Griggs and his group of friends. I kept my head down in an attempt to be invisible to them. It didn’t work. They surrounded me before I could get away.

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do? Leave me alone,” I mumbled.

“No way, Connery. Remember when you said you’d make your boyfriend stop staring at Sherry?” Bo growled.

“It isn’t my fault he doesn’t listen to me!” I lied. They didn’t need to know I never told Jonathan what Bo said. “And Jonathan isn’t my boyfriend!”

“Make him listen, Connery!” Ricky, one of Bo’s friends, shouted.

“It’s not my job. What does it matter if he looks but does nothing? Sherry would never even look at Jonathan anyway,” blurted, noticing Bo and his friends were getting closer.

“You’re just saying that to save your own skin,” Bo said. I turned away from them.

“If I could curse you, I would,” I mumbled. Someone grabbed my arm. I quickly realized my mistake.

“Wait! I didn’t actually mean that!” I cried, feeling the grip on my arm tighten. I glanced behind me and immediately started struggling.

Ricky had produced a box of matches from his pocket.

“No, I swear they were just words!” I begged.

“They were not just words. You’re a witch. And you know what happens to witches?” Bo asked. I felt tears fill my eyes when Ricky lit a match.

“They burn.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

Jonathan was waiting at my front door when I got home. I tried to hide my tears as I went to unlock the door. My fingers burned as I fumbled with the key.

“Is something wrong, Amber?” Jonathan asked.

“No, I’m fine. Is it okay if we study in my room?” I asked when I opened the door.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

I led Jonathan to my bedroom. I sat on my bed and motioned for him to join me. He hesitated.

“Come on, I’m not going to seduce you,” I teased. “Could I if I tried? You don’t seem like the kind of person easily tempted.”

“It would be difficult,” he agreed. “Then again, I doubt you could get anyone into your bed. You’re far too quiet around people you don’t know.”

“Hush you. We’re here to talk about chemistry, not my ability to get people into bed.”

“Both of which you have no abilities in,” he answered as he pulled out his book.

“Shut up. Help me, don’t insult me.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

“What is wrong with your hands?” Jonathan asked about twenty minutes into our study session.

“Nothing. I already said-”

“Stop lying to me. Every time you touch something, you either bite your lip or you grimace. Let me see them.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” I said again.

“Give them to me.”

Giving up, I let him take my hands. He touched the blisters that formed on my fingers gently. Each time he touched them, I tried to pull away.

“What happened?” Jonathan asked, letting go of my hands. “And don’t lie to me.”

So I told him. I told him Bo and his friends had held me while Ricky pressed lit matches to my hands. I noticed Jonathan shake as I told him.

“They did this to you?” Jonathan asked. I nodded.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, getting up from my bed. He went into the bathroom across the hall. I stared after him in surprise. I heard water running. It was about five minutes before he came back.

“What were you doing?” I asked when he came back into the room.

“I needed to calm myself. I-I didn’t want to scare you if I had started to… lose control.”

He knew loud noises scared me. He remembered and actually cared enough to leave in case he lost his cool.

“Thank you for remembering my fear of loud noises. But Jonathan, can we forget about this? It was my fault. I know what they think I am, and I used a poor choice of words when talking to them. So please don’t do anything.”

“Why did they do it?” he growled. I pulled away from him. His growling was becoming almost a common occurrence. It was scaring me.

“It was just something stupid that I said. Come on, it’s not important. Please let it go,” I lied. He knew I was lying. I knew he knew I was lying. But how could I tell Jonathan it was because of him?

“I am not letting-”

“Please? Can we-can we study? I don’t understand equilibrium,” I pushed him to let it go.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Jonathan,” I whispered. He nodded and continued to talk me through the lesson. Yet I could tell Jonathan wouldn’t put what I’d said to rest. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything about it.


	11. October 1991

_ Don't understand it blood on your hands _

_ And still you insist on repeatedly trying _

_ To tell me lies _

_ And I just don't know why, oh _

_ -Stupid In Love (Rihanna) _

“Hey, Connery! Hold up a second!” Sherry Squires called to me. I shouldn’t have stopped. But I did. For some stupid reason, I did.

“What, Sherry?” I sighed, waiting for her to catch up with me.

“What’d your boyfriend do to Bo?” Sherry all but screamed in my face.

“Jonathan?”

“Who else? What’d the scarecrow do to Bo?”

What did she mean? I had no idea anything had even happened to him. What could Jonathan have done to Bo? Sure, Jonathan was tall, but he was also skinny. Bo could kill Jonathan had they fought.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. We both know that Bo would kill Jonathan in a fight.”

“Bo was attacked by birds and I know Crane had something to do with it,” Sherry said. I snickered. Bo being attacked by birds was quite the funny visual.

“He was attacked. By birds,” I repeated, making sure I had heard Sherry correctly.

“Yes!”

“And you think Jonathan has magical powers to make birds do his bidding?”

“You’re the witch, you tell me. Does he?” Sherry asked in all seriousness.

Sherry was asking me if Jonathan had magic. Why was I, a redhead who didn’t believe in God, considered a witch? I mean, I didn’t even have green eyes. Hazel wasn’t green, right?

“No, Jonathan is not from the depths of hell like I am,” I drawled.

“Then tell me what happened!”

“Look, Sherry, I don’t even know what you’re talking about! I haven’t seen Jonathan since he walked me home Friday afternoon. When did this even happen?”

“It happened Friday night when Bo was walking home from football practice. He was alone.”

“Then how do you know Bo’s not making this up just so you can hate Jonathan even more than you already do?” I asked her.

“I trust Bo,” Sherry said.

“Of course you do. Sorry, but I don’t want to be late for school. We can continue this discussion later.”

“No, you don’t know anything, anyway. This was pointless,” she said before walking away from me.

What the hell was she talking about?

Jonathan hadn’t let me walk home alone since the incident with Bo and his friends. He always stayed glued to my side. But because Jonathan was so lanky, I didn’t feel much safer. I appreciated the thought, though.

I’d been telling Jonathan about my conversation with Sherry this morning. He listened, saying nothing as he did.

“She thinks you did something to him.”

This comment seemed to catch his attention.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“She thinks you have some kind of magic you can control birds with. Or something. Isn’t that crazy?” 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me as he continued walking. I stopped. Something was wrong.

“Jonathan? Tell me what she said was crazy. Tell me you didn’t do something to Bo,” I almost pleaded. Jonathan stopped ahead of me.

“He should have got worse for what he did to you.”

I stayed where I was. So did he. I could feel myself tremble.

“Jonathan?”

“It was also a bit of revenge for what he’s done to me. But when he hurt you, I knew I couldn’t let him get off without punishment,” Jonathan continued.

“What did you do?” I pressed. I hated the tremble I could hear in my voice. I’m sure Jonathan could hear it too.

“You know, I’d never thought I’d have something to thank my grandmother for,” was Jonathan’s answer. 

I didn’t have to ask him for clarification. I knew Jonathan would be put into a church and attacked by birds as a punishment. I was no expert, but I knew birds didn’t attack without reason. Jonathan must have figured out what his grandmother did.

I felt his long fingers grasp my shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come this close to me. I knew he could feel me trembling. I looked at the ground.

“Amber, please look at me.”

I raised my head slightly.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

Was I afraid of my best friend? The answer was yes.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Look at me, Amber.”

I raised my head to look into cold blue eyes.

“You know I would never hurt you. You mean more to me than anything,” he said, brushing his knuckles across my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying.

“Promise me you won’t do something like this again,” I said. “Swear to me that this will never happen again.”

“All right.”

“Say it, Jonathan.”

“I swear, Amber. This won’t happen again.”

I nodded. This was already a huge secret I was keeping for him. I didn’t need another one to hold on to.


	12. June 1992

_ Let me  _

_ Get in that sinking feeling  _

_ That says my heart is on an all time low - so  _

_ Don't expect me to behave perfectly and wear that sunny smile. _

_ -My Melancholy Blues (Queen) _

It had been ages since I had been beneath the tree that I had claimed as my own. It had been even longer since I’d been under it with Jonathan. He was reading a book. I absentmindedly pulled blades of grass out of the ground.

“You know, we’ve only got one year left of school,” I mentioned to Jonathan. He didn’t respond. I tried again.

“Do you have any plans for what you’ll do once we graduate? I’m sure you’ve already gotten tons of offers from schools.”

“Gotham University. Major in psychology, get a minor in chemistry,” he answered. I nodded.

“That’s nice.”

“What about you?”

“Haven’t picked a school yet, but I want a degree in journalism.”

He nodded, not saying anything in response. I picked more blades of grass from the ground.

“So, you’ve been spending time with Sherry. What’s up with that?” I asked.

“I’ve been tutoring her.”

“Oh. Do you still have a crush on her?”

“She is attractive.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No, Amber. I don’t. Is that important to you?” he asked. I noticed him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“No, I guess not. I just thought you might’ve. You’ve never indicated otherwise. Nevermind. It’s not my business, anyway.”

Neither of us continued talking. Jonathan buried his nose deeper in the book while I stared at nothing. My fingers tapped against the ground instead of pulling grass out of the dirt. The sky was turning a pink color.

“I should be going. It’s getting late,” I said.

“Wait. Before you go, let me ask you something.”

“What?”

Jonathan marked his page, set the book down, and stood. He towered over me, like usual. I raised my head to meet his eyes.

“Is something wrong? You haven’t seemed very happy, I guess. You haven’t seemed happy in a while.”

Did he actually notice that? He wasn’t completely wrong. I hadn’t been myself in months. Not since I’d heard about the incident between Jonathan and Bo. What happened to Bo was essentially my fault.

“I guess I haven’t.”

“Why?”

“Things.”

“What things? Your dad?”

“No, not my dad. What you did to Bo has been bothering me. What happened was my fault. It’s been on my mind ever since you did it,” I admitted.

“What happened wasn’t your fault. He shouldn’t have hurt you,” Jonathan tried to defend me. Him and me.

“But-”

“Forget what happened, Amber. It’s done. What happened won’t change,” Jonathan snapped. I lowered my head.

“You’re right.”

No, he wasn’t. How could I forget what he did?

“I should go now. I can’t be late. See you later, Jonathan.”

How could he be so indifferent to what he did? How could he expect me not to care?


	13. October 1992

_ This world can hurt you _

_ It cuts you deep and leaves a scar _

_ Things fall apart, but nothing breaks like a heart _

_ And nothing breaks like a heart _

_ -Nothing Breaks Like a Heart (Mark Ronson ft. Miley Cyrus) _

“Wait, hold up, Jonathan. You’re telling me that Sherry broke up with Bo for a reason that no one knows about, and she invited you to a Halloween party next week? That doesn’t sound like Sherry at all,” I said to him. 

“I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what happened, I swear. She asked me to go with her since she and Bo broke up,” he reaffirmed. “You don’t care that I told her that I would go, do you?”

“Why would I care? I can’t stop you.”

“But you don’t like it, I can see that.”

“It’s just-it seems sort of, I don’t know, set up, I guess. Sherry has never had an interest in you before now. What changed?” I asked Jonathan. He didn’t answer. “But you can go. I don’t care. I might be paranoid, that’s all.”

“I suppose it makes sense why you would be. Though I do think Sherry might be a better person now that she doesn’t have Bo to influence her.”

Sherry didn’t need Bo to influence her. She did everything she did of her own free will. She wasn’t as bad as others were though, I’d give her that. That’s what I wanted to say to Jonathan.

“I guess you might be right,” is what I said instead.

“It’ll turn out fine, Amber, you’ll see.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Halloween. A day where children scattered about with their parents in an effort to get as much candy as possible. A day where teenagers insisted on having loud parties and scaring everyone. A day where I stayed inside all night.

Much to my surprise, I’d gotten an invitation to the same Halloween party that Sherry had invited Jonathan to. Evan, a friend of Bo’s that had recently started treating me like a person, had invited me the day before. I’d said no, hesitatingly telling him I didn’t like his friends, also adding in a quieter tone that the volume of the party made me nervous. Evan had told me it was fine, and he understood, even though I don’t think he did. I thanked him for the invitation, anyway. He told me we should hang out sometime. I told him I’d think about it.

I got myself a glass of water, then glanced out the window. It was getting dark outside and children ran around the streets. I smiled at their carefree attitude.

I wondered how the party was going for Jonathan.

I was cut from my thoughts by a shout from my dad.

“Dammit, Amber! Get in here!” he called from the living room. I jolted. The glass slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. I froze.

“Dammit, girl, what did you do?” he growled, marching into the kitchen. He saw the broken glass and water on the floor. I didn’t move. I didn’t even notice that he’d moved until I felt my face sting in pain.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” I begged, then immediately got to my knees to clean up the mess.

“Shit! Ow, ow,” I cried out, feeling a sharp pain where one of the pieces cut my hand. I glanced up at Dad. He was still staring, but I could tell he was getting impatient. I hurried, throwing the glass away and cleaning up the water. My hand was still bleeding.

I wasn’t even on my feet when he grasped my wrist, pulled me to my feet, and dragged me into the living room. He pulled me to the window and pointed outside. 

Someone had painted a pentagram into the grass just outside.

“Amber, I couldn’t care less that you’re an atheist, you know that. But you should’ve kept your mouth shut around others,” he began, holding my wrist tighter. “You know this town is filled with religious fanatics, why couldn’t you go to church like everyone else until you left?”

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. My wrist hurt, my cheek hurt, and my hand was still bleeding. I just wanted him to let me go. Finally, he did.

“Go clean it up,” Dad said, raising his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. I nodded, too afraid to say anything.

The paint wouldn’t come off the grass.

It was completely dark out now, even the moon was hidden behind clouds. I was on my knees in the darkness, wondering how the hell I was going to get rid of the pink pentagram on the lawn. Water didn’t work. I supposed I would have to wait until the next day and cut it. That was all I could think of doing.

“Why are you out here, Amber?” 

The unexpected voice of Jonathan made me jump. I hadn’t expected him to be here this late.

“Can you not see-wait-never mind. I can hardly see it. Some asshole painted a bright pink pentagram on the grass, and I’m having a helluva time getting rid of it.” I finally looked up and saw Jonathan covered in… something. “What happened to you?”

“You were right. It was a setup. I was with Sherry. We almost kissed and Bo jumped out at us and threw a pumpkin at me. Funny, isn’t it?”

“What? Are you hurt?” I yelled, then remembered how late it was. I lowered my voice. “You’re not, are you?”

“Only my pride. I hate them,” Jonathan muttered the last part.

I could tell Jonathan was angry, even though he was doing a good job hiding it.

“You tried to kiss Sherry?”

“Yes. You’re welcome to tell me how big of an idiot I am.”

“You’re not an idiot,” I assured him. “You liked her. A lot. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Except I knew it would never work out between those two. Even a blind man could tell Sherry couldn’t stand Jonathan.

“Did you have fun otherwise?” I asked, hoping he did.

“It was alright, I suppose. I think I might have enjoyed it more if you had been there. But it was incredibly loud. You would have hated it,” he said, coming closer to me. “Also, someone named Evan was asking about you. He said he wished you would have accepted his invitation.”

Jonathan’s tone sounded off. He almost sounded jealous.

“Oh, yeah. Evan. He asked me to the party. I said no and explained why. He told me it was fine and asked me to hang out with him sometime,” I explained.

“What did you say when he asked you to spend time with him?”

“I said maybe. Why? Is that not okay?”

“Can I not be concerned that a friend of Bo’s wants to spend time with you?” Jonathan spat. I drew back at his tone.

“Evan doesn’t seem that bad. He’s got a better attitude than Bo does.”

“I’m sure he does,” Jonathan muttered. I stared up at him. What was wrong with him all of a sudden? Was he jealous?

“It’s late, I should get inside. See you tomorrow?” I asked.

“No, I’ll be busy tomorrow.”

“Alright then, some other time. Goodnight,” I said. 

“Goodnight, Amber.”

As I watched him walk away, still covered in pumpkin, I wondered what he would be doing. He never had plans.


	14. January 1993

_ When the world is breaking down around you _

_ Taking everything that you know _

_ What you didn't know _

_ Is that we can go forever _

_ If we want to we can live _

_ Inside of a moment _

_ The one that we own _

_ -Afterlife (Ingrid Michaelson) _

January 3, 1993. Graduation year. Soon, I could leave Arlen. I could leave my own version of hell. I could leave Dad. I could be me.

Jonathan could be himself too. Leaving would be good for him.

This town hadn’t been kind to either of us.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Amber, I have to talk to you.”

Jonathan seemed jittery. Nervous.

“We’ve been talking all day,” I pointed out.

“Right, you’re right. I meant I had a question for you.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Well, you-uh, you know how-” Jonathan stopped and shook his head. “Let me-let me start over.”

He was stumbling over his words. He was nervous. I hadn’t seen him this nervous in years. I gestured for him to continue.

“Will you go to prom with me?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. I wanted to say yes. He was my best friend. But with how Jonathan had been acting lately, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“I-” I paused. I had to think about what I wanted to say. “Can I give you an answer later?”

“If you don’t want to go with me-”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to go with you.” A white lie. “It’s just-I wasn’t planning to go to prom at all, with anyone. Let me think about it. Please?”

I know that wasn’t the answer he wanted. It wasn’t the answer anyone wanted. But it was the one he was going to get. Anyway, it was half true. I wasn’t planning on attending the prom. 

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he finally answered after what felt like an hour worth of silence. Silence with him was suffocating. I barely noticed I’d been holding my breath, waiting for his response. Was I actually afraid of what his answer might have been?

______________________________________________________________________________

Three days. Three days Jonathan had been waiting for me to say yes or no. I still didn’t have an answer. The answer should have been so obvious. So why was I thinking so hard about it?

This is what I was thinking about in the school’s library when I should have been studying for an upcoming math test. 

“So you’re either concentrating hard on that textbook, or you’ve got something on your mind. Which is it?”

“Something on my mind. What do you want, Evan?” I silently wished he would leave. I did like Evan, but I didn’t want to talk to him now.

“Just a question,” he said, sliding into the chair next to me.

“Please tell me it’s academically related. I’m not in the mood to get personal right now.”

“Sorry, it’s not. It’ll be fast, though. I was wondering if you had a date to the prom?”

Oh no. No. Not another one. I didn’t need this.

“I’ve already got a date,” I blurted. Then froze. Why did I say that?

I knew why I said it. I’d made my decision.

“Okay, that’s cool. Mind if I ask who you’re going with?” Evan asked. I hesitated. How would Evan react to me going with Jonathan Crane?

“Jonathan Crane.”

“Nice. You two are great friends, right? I think it’s great that you’re going with him. I know he doesn’t have many friends. Anyway, I should get going. See you later, Amber.”

“Bye, Evan.”

He reacted better than I expected him to. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Evan was a nice guy. Even if he didn’t acknowledge or talk to Jonathan, he still didn’t treat him like Bo did.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Jonathan, I want to go to prom with you,” I said.

“What took you so long to answer?” Jonathan asked, keeping his eyes trained on his book.

“I had to think about things. Things have changed between us, can’t you tell? But I’ve decided that I can deal with those changes. I’m still your friend. This is what I want. I’m so it took so long,” I explained.

“What made you change your mind. I know you wanted to say no.”

“Evan asked me. I knew that when he asked me I didn’t want to go with him. I wanted to go with you. I want to go with you.”

He stared at me, then turned back to his book.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

So was I. 


	15. May 1993

_ The child is grown _

_ The dream is gone _

_ And I have become comfortably numb _

_ -Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd) _

Prom night. A magical night for some and a nightmare for others. Hopefully, my night wouldn’t end like Carrie White’s did.

My father had fussed over me before I left. He said I was a beautiful young woman. He said he was proud of the woman I’d become. He might have been crying. Seeing him like that had almost made me forget all the wrong he’d done to me. Almost.

Jonathan met me at the school. His suit, hand-me-down and too big, hung on his skinny frame. He pulled on the sleeves of the coat. He wasn’t handsome, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t have to be.

Neither of us said anything to each other as we entered the gym. The other couples were showering one another with compliments. Jonathan and I didn’t. We weren’t a couple. We didn’t get to say how in love we were with the other.

“You look nice,” Jonathan said as we stood to the side of the gym. I watched the other couples dance.

“Thanks. So do you.”

Bo and Sherry were dancing together. They seemed like they were in love. I might have wished to be like them if they weren’t such bullies.

A song I loved came on. “Making Love Out Of Nothing At All” by Air Supply. I swayed to the music of the song. Then I pulled on Jonathan’s hand.

“Come dance with me. Just one song,” I said when I felt him try pulling away. “Please, Jonathan? You can’t bring me to prom and not dance at least once with me.”

He groaned, but let me pull him out into the middle of the floor. The dance was a bit awkward due to the massive height difference between us, but we managed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherry give me an odd look. I ignored her. I hummed the song as we danced. 

The dance ended too soon.

Jonathan pulled me back into the corner but kept his fingers locked with mine. I made no attempt to pull away.

I watched Bo and Sherry leave the gym. They were probably going to Bo’s car to make out. That wasn’t any of my business, though.

“I’ll be right back,” Jonathan said into my ear. 

“Don’t be gone long. I didn’t come to be by myself,” I answered.

Jonathan was still gone fifteen minutes later. I sat alone in the corner, nibbling on a cracker. I saw Evan and waved. He waved back, then turned back to the girl he was talking to. Then he started coming towards me.

“Where’s Jonathan?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He said he’d be right back fifteen minutes ago.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, he probably lost track of time. He’s probably uncomfortable in a place with all these people.”

“Won’t your date be upset you’re talking to another girl?” I asked, pointing to the girl he’d been talking to. Evan laughed.

“She’s not my date. I came alone since a certain redhead rejected me.”

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m just joking,” he laughed. “So, other than your missing date, are you en-” Evan was cut off by a piercing scream. The students occupying the gym were suddenly running outside. 

A car had run into a tree. Two of the football players were at the car, trying to get the occupants out.

“Oh my God, what do you think happened?” I asked Evan. He was about to answer when another girl started screaming. The football players pulled Bo out of the car. I grabbed Evan by the arm. One girl started crying.

“Oh my God, Sherry,” the crying girl said through her tears. The football players pulled out Sherry. She wasn’t moving. More girls started crying.

Where was Jonathan?

One of the adults must have called the police. Sirens were getting closer to the school. I held onto Evan.

“What’s going on, Amber?” Finally, Jonathan was back. I let go of Evan.

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t look like Sherry is breathing. And Bo can’t move,” I said, feeling tears run down my face. Paramedics crowded the scene. Couples held onto one another. 

“Come on, let’s go. They’ll make us leave anyway,” Jonathan whispered into my ear. I quietly said goodbye to Evan, then followed Jonathan away from the scene.

“Where were you?” I asked when we were away from the others.

“Getting air. I needed a minute away from everyone,” Jonathan said.

“That minute was actually fifteen minutes. You only showed up after Bo’s car crashed into that tree. You know that looks suspicious.”

Jonathan took hold of my wrist. Tightly.

“Do you think I did something to them? Do you, Amber?” he whispered. He sounded vaguely threatening.

“No,” I said, but yes is what I thought. In my eyes, he hated them both enough to do something as terrible as causing a crash.

He let go of my wrist.

“I didn’t do anything. I swear,” he assured me.

I wasn’t assured. His promises didn’t mean much to me anymore.


	16. June 1993

_ Nobody said it was easy _

_ It’s such a shame for us to part _

_ Nobody said it was easy _

_ Nobody said it would be this hard _

_ -The Scientist (Coldplay) _

The sky wasn’t grey as they lowered the grave in the ground. I suppose that was fitting given the circumstances. No one seemed sad that Mary Keeny was dead. Jonathan made a show of being miserable when I knew he was more than happy she was gone.

The only thing I questioned was how she died. I didn’t believe the story of a heart attack.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Can you believe we’re graduating tomorrow, Jonathan?” I asked as we sat on his bed. He looked content as he nodded. 

“After tomorrow we’re free to leave,” I said. He nodded again.

“So you’ll be attending Gotham University in the fall?” I asked.

“I will. What about you?”

“I’m going to a school in Virginia. For journalism.”

“Then I suppose we will part ways soon,” he said.

“I guess we will. I’m going to miss you, you know that, right?”

“I know, and I suppose I’ll miss you.”

“You suppose?” I teased. “I’m sorry for having wasted your time all these years.”

“You’ve never wasted my time,” Jonathan said. Though it wasn’t in the lowered voice I was accustomed to.

For some reason, I could feel my cheeks warm up as he looked at me. Then I reached out and hugged him. He tensed for a moment before returning the embrace. His hands lightly caressed my back. I enjoyed these moments when I could pretend he was the same boy as the one I’d met years ago.

“Amber?” he whispered into my hair.

“Yes?”

“I think I love you.”

I froze.

“What?” I said after being silent for a few moments.

“I said-”

“I know what you said,” I interrupted him. “Do you mean it?”

“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” he said, pulling away. I looked away from him, knowing I would regret what I was about to say. I did love Jonathan. 

Platonically. 

Not romantically.

“I know you wouldn’t. But I don’t know if I love you back. At least, not in the way you do,” I whispered. I waited for his sharp words.

They never came.

The silence was worse than anything he could have said.

“Jonathan, I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want to hear,” I continued to whisper. His face didn’t display any signs of pain. 

“I’m not upset. You deserve better than me anyway,” he finally said. To anyone else, it might have sounded like he was trying to guilt me. But I knew better. I knew he believed what he said. And it wasn’t true.

“That’s not true. It’s just me. I haven’t had time to…dig deep, I guess. Evaluate my feelings. It’s not at all you,” I tried to convince him. 

“It’s fine. I get it,” he mumbled. “Forget I said anything.”

I felt terrible.

I felt worse knowing there were only a few months left for us to be together.

Before long, we would leave each other.

It would be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have neared the end of the childhood years! Coming up in the next chapter will be the start of the adult years. A big thank you to everyone who's been reading this so far!


	17. July 2004

_ Drench yourself in words unspoken _

_ Live your life with arms wide open _

_ Today is where your book begins _

_ The rest is still unwritten _

_ -Unwritten (Natasha Bedingfield) _

_ “Welcome to Gotham City, Miss Connery.” _

_ I stood in front of a short, portly man. My new boss, as a matter of fact. I smiled and accepted the hand he had outstretched toward me. _

_ “Thank you, Mr. Flannigan. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you chose me out of all the other applicants. Some, I have to admit, are far more qualified than I,” I said to him. _

_ “Well, from what I’ve seen, you have amazing skill. We were also looking to hire new journalists on the younger side. Perhaps gain a new perspective. You were what we were looking for.” _

_ “I hope I live up to your expectations, sir.” _

______________________________________________________________________________

I sat at my desk, thinking hard about the first conversation I’d had with my boss a month ago. He had high expectations for me. I felt like I wasn’t living up to those expectations. I yawned and leaned back in my chair.

Even after living only a month, I realized crime in Gotham, quite literally, never rests. I remembered watching the news and always seeing Gotham on the station. But I never imagined it would be as bad as I now saw it was.

Gotham also had a very interesting style of criminal.

I glanced at the clock. There were two minutes before I could leave. I groaned. Nothing was happening? Why couldn’t I go?

It appeared everyone else shared the same mindset. Some were actually leaving. Me, I wanted to preserve my worker’s integrity.

One minute.

The moment the clock hit five o’clock I was out.

“Bye, Paul,” I called to him. He didn’t answer. I stuck my head into his office. He was asleep. I left him alone.

It wasn’t dark yet as I walked home. Walking home in Gotham during the day was bad enough. I couldn’t imagine walking home at night.

To the east was the notorious Arkham Asylum. It housed the worst of the worst. I’d hate to be a patient there, much less work there. I stared at the gothic looking asylum as I walked. That was how I ran into something.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I apologized, finally paying attention to what I was doing. It was an African American woman I’d run into. Everything she must have been holding was on the sidewalk. I dropped to my knees to help her pick up her things.

“It’s alright,” she said. I glanced at the cover of the folder she had. It had the words Arkham Asylum printed on the cover.

“Arkham, huh?” I asked as I handed the folder back.

“Yeah, it’s an interesting place,” she said. In one of the folders I picked up, I noticed a tab with a name I recognized on it.

Jonathan Crane.

“You know Jonathan Crane?” I asked the woman.

“He’s a new doctor. You know him?”

“We were friends as teenagers.”

“You know, he might have mentioned you. What’s your name?”

“Amber Connery,” I said. The woman nodded her head.

“He has mentioned you. By the way,” she stuck out her hand, “I’m Dr. Joan Leland.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said as I shook her hand. It was just then I noticed that it was getting dark.

“I should go. I don’t think either of us want to be walking home in the dark,” I said.

“You’re right,” Joan agreed. “You should come by some time. I’m sure Jonathan would be happy to see you.”

“I’ll see if I can find the time to do that. Goodbye, Dr. Leland.”

She waved as I started walking to my apartment. I was surprised to hear Jonathan was still in Gotham. What were the chances of that?

When I got to my building, I took one last look at the asylum. It loomed over the city, almost like a dark stain. Threatening and unwelcoming.

Sort of like a certain person who now worked there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And welcome to the adult years! Also, no Jonathan this time, sorry!


	18. July 2004

_ The strain of time tore us apart _

_ It's not what we want but it's where we are _

_ And I know the fault is partly mine _

_ I miss those nights that we'd talk for hours _

_ About our dreams and our desires _

_ But all that's gone and all that's left is bitterness _

_ -Closure (Hayley Warner) _

I stared up at the dark, imposing figure of Arkham Asylum. From a distance, it was scary. Up close, it was terrifying. I almost wished Paul had chosen someone else for this project. I also did not want to be the one to approach Dr. Jeremiah Arkham for the topic.

Paul assigned me to speak with the doctors that worked in Arkham. He’d gotten a tip from a source saying unorthodox methods of rehabilitation were being used. Of course, he wanted it investigated. And the night prior, I’d been the unlucky one to be picked for this assignment.

I took a breath and forced myself to walk up the stairs and through the doors. It was worse inside than out. The building was dark, even with the lights on. I heard screaming coming from a different section of the building. My hands started shaking. Doctors and nurses walked past without acknowledging me. I was unnerved by their attitudes. I felt invisible. Invisible and afraid.

“Excuse me,” I said to a woman, most likely a nurse, passing by me. “Could you tell me how to get to the director’s office?”

She gave me a blank stare.

“I think I’m expected. I’m a journalist from the Gazette. I’m supposed to meet with Dr. Jeremiah Arkham,” I tried to explain.

“Down the hall and to the left,” she finally said after a moment’s pause. She turned and walked away quickly.

“Thanks,” I called to her retreating form.

I thought she was rather rude.

I followed the woman’s directions and sure enough, came to a door with his name written in frosted glass. I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a high-pitched male voice instructed. I opened the door and stuck my head inside. A slightly balding man sat at a desk in the middle of the office. I moved deeper inside and closed the door behind me. It was worse here than out there. I felt trapped in here.

“Dr. Arkham?” I said his name hesitantly. He rifled through a stack of papers before saying anything.

“Amber Connery? The journalist?” he asked. I nodded.

“Why are you here? I received news that you were hoping to interview one of my doctors.”

To be fair, it wasn’t me that was hoping to. But Paul was.

“That’s correct, sir.”

“About what, if I may ask,” he said as he stared at me. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He seemed to stare down at me. I shifted on my feet. That was the one question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask.

“My uh, my boss got a-um, a tip from someone. S-Saying, um” I paused, realizing I was making myself seem like an idiot. It was his fault, though. He didn’t have to stare me down. I threaded my fingers through my hair.

“He heard that unorthodox methods were being used here,” I finished quickly.

“Unorthodox methods?”

“He didn’t elaborate,” I muttered.

“I’m afraid you were told wrong, Ms. Connery. Our methods are perfectly conventional, I assure you,” Dr. Arkham promised. The way he said it made it seem like it was an innocent mistake. The tone made it clear that was not what he thought.

I wanted to get out. The air was suffocating me.

Fuck the story.

“I understand, sir. I apologize for wasting your time,” I said, backing toward the door. He stared at me without saying anything. I assumed that meant I could let myself out.

I left without another word.

The moment I closed the door and turned, I ran into someone. Just like the week before. Except this time, they didn’t drop anything.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I need to watch where I’m going…” I trailed off, realizing who’d I just run into.

“Hello, Amber.”

“Hey, Jonathan,” I muttered, staring up at him.

Had he always been this tall? Or had he grown taller? Had I gotten shorter? 

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Here, as in Arkham? Or as in Gotham?” I asked.

“Both.”

“I got a job here. In the city, I mean. I see you did too. I mean, I heard you did anyway last week, from a Dr. Leland. And I’m here to get a story. At least I was,” I explained.

“Ah, I see,” he glanced down at his watch. “I have a session in five minutes, I must be off. Have a good day, Amber.”

“You too,” I said. He left.

I heard more screaming. I almost sprinted out of the asylum.

I sat in my car in the parking lot. I had my head down on the wheel. My hands were shaking in my lap. I hated this place. I hated it.

Jonathan seemed so bitter. But also indifferent. More indifferent than in our adolescent years. Our meeting was short, but I could see he was different. 

Maybe it was just the asylum that made it seem that way. Its haunting environment twisting my perception. Maybe it was me being nervous. Or maybe it was who he was.

I raised my hands to my head. They wouldn’t stop shaking. Dr. Arkham said their methods were conventional. I found that hard to believe. Not with the way the place looked and how the doctors and nurses acted. Things were off, that much I could tell. But I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to hear the screaming again. Not the screams of the insane. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Paul would understand. Hopefully. I had told him about my fear.

But I’d also promised that it wouldn’t interfere with my work.

It was a stupid fear. Loud noises. How many people were afraid of something like that? How many people were afraid of a sound? I hated that was what I was scared of. It was ridiculous.

My hands finally stopped shaking. I breathed in and out deeply, started my vehicle, and drove out of the parking lot. Arkham remained in my rearview mirror. Then an idea came to mind. Something I should have thought about earlier.

Maybe Jonathan could get me my story. All I had to do was talk to him.

If I could talk to him.

“Easy, Amber. It’ll be easy,” I muttered to myself.


	19. July 2004

_ Everything dies, baby, that's a fact _

_ But maybe everything that dies someday comes back _

_ -Atlantic City (Bruce Springsteen) _

Eight at night was late to call a hospital when there was no emergency, I knew that. Eight at night was when most of the doctors went home. I knew that. But I called anyway.

I listened to the phone ring. Then a woman answered the phone. 

“Hello?” she asked. She sounded exasperated. I didn’t blame her. I’d be irritated if someone called this late.

“Hello, my name is Amber Connery. I apologize for calling so late, but I need to know if Jonathan Crane is still there,” I explained to the woman. I heard her sigh.

“I’ll check for you,” she said. I waited for her answer.

“Yes, he is. Would you like to speak to him?” she answered after a few moments.

“Yeah, please,” I answered, surprised he was still there.

“Alright, I’ll transfer you to him. Please wait a few moments.”

I quietly waited for another few minutes. Then I heard his voice.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hey, it’s Amber,” I said, albeit a bit awkwardly. I could hear his breathing on the other end of the line.

“What do you need, Amber? I am busy.”

What could he be doing so late? I didn’t think therapy sessions happened at this time of the night.

“I was wondering if we could talk. Not tonight, but maybe at a later time?” I asked.

“Why?” he asked.

“Do I need a reason to talk to a friend?”

“Is this about the interview you were unable to get?”

“No…”

Yes, it was.

“Really?” he asked. He didn’t believe me. He was always good at telling when I was lying.

“Alright, maybe it is. But I do want to talk to you. Please, Jonathan. I’ve missed you,” I begged.

“Tomorrow. Noon. I can give you about forty minutes of my time. I’m sure you know of the coffee shop close to where you work. Don’t be late,” he said. My heart jumped.

“I’ll be there, promise. Thanks, Jonathan. Goodnight,” I said.

Then he hung up on me.

Rude.

But I had a meeting. If I was lucky, not only would I get a story. Maybe I could also reconnect with an old friend.

______________________________________________________________________________

I sat at a corner table inside the coffee shop. A cup of coffee sat on the table in front of me. I hadn’t touched it yet. Every time the door opened, I would look toward it, waiting for Jonathan to walk through. But he didn’t.

Granted, I had been twenty minutes early.

I took a sip of the coffee in front of me. Coffee being the technical term. What I was drinking was barely coffee anymore. Not when I filled it with too much cream and sugar.

I checked the clock on the wall. It read 11:52. Eight minutes. Eight minutes for me to gather my thoughts and figure out what I was going to say to Jonathan. Eight minutes for me to… 

Nevermind.

I watched him walk up to the counter, order something, and pay the barista. He leaned against the counter, waiting for his drink. He scanned the room, his blue eyes still as piercing as ever. It took all of my willpower to not shy away when his stare landed on me.

I couldn’t say why.

The barista had to tap on his shoulder to get his attention. He turned to take his coffee. Then he started walking toward me.

Something filled my gut. Anxiety. Panic. Why was I panicking?

“Amber,” he greeted as he sat across from me. My heart leapt.

“Hey, Jonathan,” I answered with a slight smile.

“You have forty-five minutes. You should start talking.”

Everything I’d planned on saying went out the window.

“Do you still like me?” I blurted unintentionally.

“I suppose,” is all he said. He supposes? What does that mean?

“Oh,” I paused. “Okay.”

God, how much more awkward could I make this?

So much more if I knew myself.

“Is this why you wanted to talk to me? To ask if I still like you?” Jonathan asked.

“No, that’s not why. Well, sort of. If we had time, yeah. But,” I stopped short. Then buried my face in my hands. 

“I’m an idiot,” I muttered.

“If it makes you feel better, you’ve always been one.”

I peeked at him through my fingers. 

“Shut up.”

“You wanted to ask me about the interview you were unable to get. What was it about?” he asked, getting back to what we were supposed to be talking about.

“Yeah, that’s what we’re here for. So, my boss heard from someone that some doctors in Arkham are using methods that are hurting the patient more than benefiting them. Is this true?” I asked. He didn’t answer straight away. I sipped my coffee as I waited for an answer.

“What do you mean by harmful methods?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “That’s just what I was told.”

“Did it occur to you that outside sources may be uneducated in treating people with mental illnesses? Particularly the ones that are a danger to themselves and society? Like the ones treated in Arkham?” Jonathan asked.

“For a moment, I guess. I’m just doing my job. I didn’t mean to attack anyone.”

“Oh, I know, Amber. It’s not in your nature to want to hurt anyone,” he said. He raised his cup of coffee, black, to his lips.

“I guess my answer, dumbed down for an idiot like me, is a no, then?” I asked. He nodded. I sighed, then glanced at the clock. There was still had half an hour to talk to him.

I should have kept pushing for the answer Paul wanted, which was yes, bad things were happening. I knew it would make for a good story. But Jonathan sounded sincere in his answer. Yet I also knew Jonathan could be a good liar when he wanted to be.

“You’re not lying, are you?” I asked.

“When have you known me to lie?”

“A few times.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he laughed quietly.

“So, that’s what I wanted to ask,” I said. Then, quieter, I added, “Do you have to go?”

“No,” he said, looking at the watch on his wrist. “I said you had forty-five minutes to talk. You now have twenty-six. I never specified what we had to talk about.”

“So I could ask if you were lying about liking me?”

“I wasn’t lying. I do still like you, Amber. Even if you never tried to contact me.”

That was a low blow. Even if what he said was true.

“I know, and I feel awful about it. But I didn’t…”

I was going to say I didn’t know where he was. But I did know. He told me where he was going to college. He told me, and I never called, never sent a letter. I did nothing when I could have.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan, I should have tried,” I mumbled.

“I suppose it isn’t entirely your fault. I could have contacted you. Did you keep in touch with any old classmates of ours?”

“I talked to Evan for a while, if you remember him. We lost touch, though. Otherwise, no. I know you didn’t like anyone, so I don’t have to ask if you did,” I told him. He laughed again.

“You’re right. It looks like you’re not a complete idiot.”

“Gee, thanks. Glad you think that,” I said. Then I leaned in closer, trying to tease him. “So, anyone special?”

“As if. No one in this city is worth my time,” he said.

“But I am?”

“You always have been.”

This reminded me of something. It was almost a sense of deja vu. I could have sworn we’d talked about this before.

Even if he had said it before, now it seemed out of character. I couldn’t say why.

Again, my eyes drifted to the clock. Jonathan would have to be going. He apparently saw the time too. He stood, leaving an empty mug on the table.

“Bye, Jonathan. Could we-could we do this again?” I asked.

“We could,” he answered, blunt as ever. “Do you have a pen?”

“Yeah,” I said, giving him one from my purse. He wrote something on a napkin, then handed both to me.

“Don’t call my office again,” he said. I watched him leave, then looked at what he wrote.

It was a phone number.


	20. August 2004

_ What a wicked game you played to make me feel this way _

_ What a wicked thing to do to let me dream of you _

_ What a wicked thing to say you never felt this way _

_ What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you _

_ -Wicked Game (Chris Isaak) _

Sometimes, I hated my job. On other days, I hated the people I worked with. Sometimes, I hated my own work. 

It was a day where I hated the people I worked with. Person, actually. Namely, a nosy reporter named Vicki Vale. I didn’t hate Vicki. I didn’t. But she got on my nerves sometimes. Especially when I couldn’t get her to shut up.

“So, you know that one serial killer, Victor Zsasz? I’ve finally gotten an interview with him. I’ve been trying to for a while now. I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am,” Vicki said. She kept talking, and I tried tuning her out. The attempt was unsuccessful.

“That’s great, Vicki. Just don’t get cut up,” I answered. I thought she would leave once I answered her. She didn’t. She sat on the corner of my desk.

“I heard the Arkham thing didn’t go well,” she said.

“It went as well as it needed to. There was nothing going on. And have you met Jeremiah Arkham? He’s fucking creepy. I don’t think even you would want to hang around him longer than necessary. And we both know you love weird people.”

“I guess. I heard you talked to the new doctor. Crane, I think, is his name. How’d that go? I heard he doesn’t like people all that much,” she added. 

“It went fine, considering I knew him before,” I said. 

I shouldn’t have mentioned that fact. Vicki’s eyes lit up.

“So you knew the elusive Dr. Crane?” Vicki asked.

“As teenagers, yeah. Basically grew up in hell together.”

“Oh? What else can you say about him?” she asked.

“Not a goddamn thing.”

“I didn’t know you cursed.”

I didn’t a lot. Only when I was upset or annoyed.

“Sometimes,” is what I answered with.

Vicki continued to talk. I stopped paying attention, so I couldn’t say what she was rambling about. I stopped answering her too. She must have gotten bored with me; she left not long after I had refused to talk. I relished in the quiet after she left.

Finally, I could return to the story I was editing. It was about the businessman Oswald Cobblepot. I hadn’t interviewed him, and to be fair, I hadn’t wanted to. Every big businessman in this city, from what I’d heard, was corrupt. Everyone except Bruce Wayne. The people in this city practically sang his praises, despite his reputation as a playboy.

Bruce Wayne was someone I wanted to interview.

Most of the stories we wrote involved the corrupt, the mobs, or murder. I couldn’t begin to count the number of stories I saw about the Falcones or the Maronis. The number involving murder was even higher. Sometimes it made me wish I still lived in Arlen.

The thoughts of Arlen were always brief. Thoughts of Jonathan were not. Every time I thought of Arlen, my mind would shift to Jonathan. Every damn time.

There was no doubt in my mind he was different now. Not a good different either.

The phone number he gave to me rested heavy in my pocket. I was never without it, just in case I wanted to try calling. But something kept me from doing it. Something in my mind said no when everything else was saying one thing: call him.

It’d been two weeks. I should have tried.

“Damn it all,” I muttered, furiously typing on the keyboard.

Tonight. Tonight I would call him.

______________________________________________________________________________

Six o’clock was still an alright time to call someone in my mind. It wasn’t that late. He should have still been awake.

Alright, it was a little late to call someone. I’d been putting off calling him until I couldn’t anymore. I put the numbers into my phone and pressed call before I could stop myself. Then I lifted it to my ear.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

“Hello?”

I took a heavy breath. “Hey, Jonathan. It’s Amber.”

Silence.

“I’d started to think what you said about wanting to talk to me was a lie. It’s been two weeks,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I was-”

“Scared?” he interrupted.

Yes. That’s what I had been, even if I couldn’t admit to it myself.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Any particular reason for this call?” he asked.

“Not really, I just wanted to talk to you. I’m not sure about what though,” I said. “You say something first.”

“Are you still afraid of me?” he asked without warning. My breath hitched. That had been holding me back. I hadn’t wanted to bring up our last few years in Georgia. I hadn’t wanted to talk about how much he’d scared me in our last years.

Because I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know.

“Should I have a reason to?” I asked, trying to play it safe.

“You don’t.”

I didn’t miss the inflection on the word you.

“What do you mean I don’t?” I asked.

“I mean, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t do anything to you,” he said.

“But you’ll do things to other people?”

“If I have to.”

I paused. “Talk about something else, Jonathan.”

“I still love you.”

This time I thought my heart actually stopped. You weren’t supposed to just say that to someone. People were supposed to ease into something like that.

How could someone still love another person after ten years of not talking or seeing each other?

“Amber, are you still there?” I heard him ask. It must have been a few minutes since he said that.

“Yeah, I am,” I answered quietly. “Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I meant it when I said you are the only one worth my time. You’re also the only one worth any affection I may have.”

I raised my hand and bit my nails. What was I supposed to say to that? How was I supposed to answer? Was there an appropriate answer? Was there even a right answer?

Why did he have to sound so clinical about all of this?

“It’s been ten years, Jonathan.”

“Time hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

He sounded so clinical. So emotionless. How could he mean what he was saying? No one could sound so indifferent when telling someone they loved them.

But that was Jonathan. I knew that. He sounded the same way the first time he’d said it, with his face pressed against my hair.

It was unnerving though, even if I knew that was how he was.

“My feelings haven’t changed,” I whispered. I bit the pad of my thumb. Why had I said that? 

“I didn’t expect them to.”

“They could change though,” I added. I bit my thumb so hard it started bleeding. Why had I said that?

“They could. Now, I’ve said enough. Tell me something about yourself,” he said, changing the subject. He still sounded emotionless, even after I told him I could love him. How did he do it?

“Okay.”

We talked for another hour about unimportant things. When we said goodbye, I couldn’t even remember what we’d talked about. I thought about his declaration of love for me. I thought about my response. Why had I said that?

I knew why. I knew that given the chance, I could love Jonathan Crane. Half of me wanted to try. Half of me was scared to try.

There was a gunshot outside. I jumped. I cursed.

For someone who was afraid of loud noises, I picked the worst place on the planet to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I don't think I've mentioned this until now, and I probably should have, but Amber does have a Southern accent. I just can't really write accents very well, so I don't do it. But she does have one, and she retains it while she's in Gotham.
> 
> There is also a very unedited version of this on Wattpad, so if any of you see this, it is not stolen. That Wattpad person is also me :)


	21. October 2004

_ The pull on my flesh is just too strong _

_ It stifles the choice and the air in my lungs _

_ Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie _

_ When I open my body and breathe alive _

_ -Broken Crown (Mumford and Sons) _

“So, I have to go to a Halloween party for work in a couple of days. I don’t really want to go, but I heard some guy say that I’m a boring recluse. Now I’ve gotta go to prove to him I’m not,” I said over the phone to Jonathan. It was late. We always talked at night, for almost two months.

It was nice.

“Good luck,” he said.

“You should come with me. I don’t want to go by myself,” I added. “But it might still feel like I’m alone. You’re boring, not me.”

“And as a boring person, I’m afraid I have to decline.”

“Come on, Jonathan. There’s going to be free alcohol,” I tried to coax him with that. 

“I don’t drink.”

“So you can be my designated driver. Please! You don’t want me out on the streets, alone and drunk, right?” 

I heard him sigh over the phone. I could picture him pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I could also picture him pinching his nose. This was a telltale sign he was going to give in to me.

“Fine. Only to keep you from killing yourself or getting yourself killed. What time do you want me to pick you up?” 

“Six would be fine. It starts at six-thirty,” I said. “Thanks, Jonathan.”

“Be ready or I’m not taking you.”

He hung up without a proper goodbye. Rude, but normal.

I put the phone down and smiled. I hoped Jonathan would have at least a little fun.

So Halloween colors are generally orange and black, right? I couldn’t wear orange. Redheads should avoid orange at all costs. At least, in my experience, they should. 

I knew I looked terrible in orange.

So I went to the next popular Halloween color for my dress. Purple.

I looked good in purple.

I think.

I waited outside my apartment building for Jonathan. I knew he’d be here at six on the dot. That was how he was: always on time, never late. I knew if I wasn't waiting here, he’d stay true to his promise to leave.

He was probably hoping I wouldn’t be waiting out here.

I watched him slowly pull up next to the curb. I climbed into the passenger seat and we left. It was quiet when he started driving.

“You look nice,” he said after a few minutes.

“Thanks. You look good too,” I paused. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“We can stay as long as you want to.”

“You sure?” I asked. I knew he didn’t like events like this.

“I’ll be fine.”

When we got to the party, Jonathan stayed behind me. It almost felt like I was protecting him. It was a weird feeling considering he towered over me.

I quickly said hello to Paul and introduced him to Jonathan. Then I pulled Jonathan away from him. I knew Jonathan would find Paul to be too… happy, I guess. I hoped Vicki wasn’t here. Jonathan had told me he knew Vicki. He didn’t like her. He told me as much. He found her annoying and intrusive.

“Is Ms. Vale here?” Jonathan asked. He knew exactly what I had been thinking.

“Somewhere probably. I’ll try to keep you away from her,” I said before walking away from him. He caught up and walked next to me.

“Where are you going?”

“You drove me here, you’re driving me home. I want to drink.”

I’d barely finished a glass of wine when I saw Vicki. I tugged on Jonathan’s hand.

“She’s over there. Let’s move,” I said. I’d started pulling him away too late.

“Amber! You came! I told Martin you’d be here. He owes me fifteen dollars now,” Vicki called. She already seemed tipsy.

“You bet on me coming?”

“Yep. And I won. You brought someone too! I should’ve added more to our bet.” Vicki turned to look at Jonathan. “Dr. Crane, how are you?”

“Fine,” he said curtly.

I was amazed he hadn’t been sarcastic or rude. Granted, he didn’t sound friendly, but it was better than sounding unapproachable.

“That’s great. Can I borrow Amber for a second?” She didn’t wait for him to say yes or no. She pulled me off to the side.

“I can’t believe you convinced Dr. Crane to come! How did you do it?” She gasped. “Are you two dating?”

“No, we’re not. He’s here to drive me home.”

“Sure,” she drawled. She winked and left. I stared at her as she left. 

I needed more wine.

We stayed longer than I intended to. When I was ready to leave, I wasn’t exactly drunk, but I wasn’t sober either. Jonathan walked me to my apartment and almost left. I grabbed onto his arm to keep him from leaving.

“Thank you for going with me. I’m sorry we stayed longer than what you probably wanted,” I apologized.

“It’s fine. You need sleep, though. Go on,” he said, trying to push me away.

“Wait.”

I did the boldest thing I had ever done in my life.

I kissed him.


	22. March 2005

_ Those three words _

_ Are said too much _

_ They're not enough _

_ -Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol) _

“There was another sighting of the batman,” Paul announced to the room.

“Who saw him?” Martin asked.

“A group of thugs was trying to rob the jewelry store down the street when he attacked them. At least, that's what they reported,” Paul explained.

These sightings of a supposed "bat man" were becoming common. The first one was reported almost three months ago. No one knew who he was or where he came from. It was currently Gotham's biggest mystery. One many wanted to solve.

“Attacked or stopped?” Vicki asked. The story of the batman enraptured her. And to be honest, it caught my attention, too. He was intriguing. I'm sure Jonathan thought the same.

“It sounds to me like he's trying to do some good,” I added. People started muttering amongst themselves. Some agreed with me. Others believed the opposite.

“If he wanted to help, he'd stop dressing like a bat and put on a uniform,” a photographer, Anna said. “This city doesn't need a vigilante.”

"Maybe that's exactly what the city needs," another man cut in. "Everyone knows the police station is filled with corrupt cops."

“Dressing like a bat, though! That's insane!” Anna said.

“This city is insane, what does one more make?” I said to Anna before collecting my things.

“Where are you going?” Anna asked.

"I've got an interview with one of the scientists at Wayne Enterprises." I looked at the paper that had the information on it. “A Dr. Kirk Langstrom.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Neither have I, but he requested it. So I guess I'm doing it,” I said, putting the paper into my bag. I waved to my colleagues before leaving.

At least I wouldn't have to listen to them argue about the bat man.

I had never been inside the Wayne Enterprises building. It was huge on the outside. It was the tallest building in Gotham. The inside, though; the inside was gorgeous. Modern and new. It took my breath away.

I walked to the reception desk. A woman sat tall at it.

“Excuse me, I'm from the Gazette. I'm supposed to speak with Dr. Kirk Langstrom,” I explained. The woman smiled.

“Of course. Take the elevator to the left, and you'll want to go to the fifteenth floor. There will be someone there to help you find Dr. Langstrom,” the woman said. I thanked her and went to the elevator. The doors were about to close when someone stuck their hand between the doors to hold them open. I wasn't paying attention to who walked in.

“What floor?” I asked.

“Fourteen, please,” a man's voice said. I pressed the number fourteen. The doors closed.

“Cool, I'm getting off at fifteen…” my voice suddenly stopped. 

I was in an elevator with Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne. Gotham's most eligible bachelor playboy billionaire. The owner of the building I was currently riding in an elevator in.

“I'm afraid I don't recognize you. Who are you?” he asked.

“Oh-um, Amber Connery. I'm from the Gazette. One of your scientists asked if we could talk to him. About something important, I guess.”

“Ah. Well, I would introduce myself, but I suppose you already know who I am.”

“I think everyone knows who you are,” I laughed.

“Which scientist is it you'll be talking to, if I may ask?”

“Kirk Langstrom.”

Bruce Wayne muttered something under his breath. It sounded like he said ‘the bats.’ Did Langstrom's project have something to do with bats?

The elevator doors opened. We are on the fourteenth floor.

“This is my stop. Good luck with your interview, Amber,” Bruce Wayne said.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Call me Bruce,” he said as he stepped out. The doors shut, and I was alone in the elevator.

The fifteenth floor was an entire laboratory, with sectioned off rooms for specific scientists. I asked one where I could find Dr. Langstrom. He led me to a room at the end of the hall. No one else was here.

“Why is no one else over here,” I asked the scientist.

“Dr. Langstrom keeps bats in his office. No one is particularly fond of the noises they make,” he explained. I nodded. Though it confirmed that what Bruce Wayne said in the elevator was about bats, though he didn’t sound very fond of whatever it was Langstrom was doing. What was he doing with bats?

I knocked on the door. There was shuffling on the other side. Then the door opened. A tall man with wispy hair opened the door.

“Are you Dr. Langstrom?”

“I am. You must be the reporter,” he said, holding out his hand.

“That's right. I'm Amber Connery.” I shook his hand. “What was it you wanted to talk about, Dr. Langstrom?”

“Please, come in and sit. Then we can start our discussion.”

He walked back into his office, and I followed. Then I saw the bats. Or rather, I heard them before I saw them. There were maybe twelve in the room. It was one of the more strange settings I had conducted an interview inside of.

“So, Dr. Langstrom, what did you want to talk about?” I asked again. I tried not to let it show how uncomfortable the bats made me. He seemed very comfortable around them.

“I wanted to get awareness for a project I am working on,” he answered.

“With bats?”

“Correct. I am attempting to create an extract to give humans a similar sense of sonar like bats have,” the doctor explained to me.

“Interesting,” I said. And it was. I didn't understand it, but it sounded interesting. The only problem was that it also sounded like a lot of trial and error. And if he wanted it to work on humans, that involved human experimentation. 

“Is it safe?” I asked. 

“Theoretically.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I haven't actually tested it yet. But in theory, it is safe.”

He hadn't tried it yet. That made me nervous. How could I put in an article highlighting this when I didn't even know it was safe? The answer was, I couldn't. And the truth was, I doubted this story would make the paper, anyway. I knew what people liked to read. People didn't like reading stuff like this. They liked reading gossip and things about celebrities. People didn't care about this science stuff. Not if it didn't include new technology.

I couldn't tell this man this, though. Yes, he was a bit odd, but he was nice.

“I'll see if I can get this printed, but I can't promise it will,” I said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

“I understand. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Ms. Connery,” he said. He escorted me to the door.

“Good luck with your experiments, Dr. Langstrom,” I said to the man. He nodded his head before returning to his office.

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Bats, can you believe that, Jonathan? First a bat man, then a scientist trying to recreate sonar in humans using bats,” I said. I was in his apartment, sipping coffee-all cream and sugar-while he worked on something. He never let me see his work. Said I wasn't allowed to.

“Amazing,” he said offhandedly. He was only half paying attention. He was busy flipping through his notes.

“I met Bruce Wayne today too. I liked him,” I mentioned. Jonathan didn't seem fazed. He pushed his glasses up his nose. I looked at the time. It was late.

“I should be going. It's late,” I said. I got up and set the cup on the table.

“You could stay,” Jonathan said quietly. I paused in putting on my shoes.

“Are you sure?”

“I don't care if you do or not. I'm just saying you could.”

I could. I would.

“I love you, Jonathan.”

“I know.”

He hadn't said I love you in five months. It was always I know. 

  
  
  



	23. June 2005

_ Hope that you fall in love _

_ And it hurts so bad  _

_ The only way you can know _

_ You gave it all you had _

_ And I hope that you don't suffer _

_ But take the pain _

_ -I Lived (OneRepublic) _

I was confused and angry. How hard was it for someone to tell another person they loved them? Once I’d said it, Jonathan hadn’t. I knew he cared for me. I knew that. But was it wrong to want the other person to say they loved you? I knew Jonathan didn’t like telling people how he felt, but he had said it at least three times before. Why couldn’t he say it again?

I watched the news. It was the same as it always was. Murder, robberies, assaults. It was always the same. Sometimes there was news of a masked vigilante. Those stories I paid the most attention to. It wasn’t a night for one of those stories.

I wanted to call him. I knew he was busy. He was always working on something. He never told me what he was working on. He said it was confidential information from the asylum. Is it wrong that I didn’t believe him?

I loved him. I needed to know if he loved me. Even if he had said it, I couldn’t feel any love. It hurt.

I stared at the phone. I wanted to call him, but I didn’t want him to be upset with me if he was busy.

The problem was that he always seemed to be busy. He was probably holed up in his office. I knew that it wasn’t healthy for him either. He didn’t need to always be working. I understood that he had work, but he didn’t need to do it constantly.

The phone sat, waiting for me to use it.

I sat, waiting to do something.

I walked to the phone, dialed his number, and waited.

I hoped he wouldn’t be mad at me.

He picked up.

“Hey, it’s Amber. Can we talk?”

“I’m busy.”

I wasn’t surprised.

“You’re always busy. Five minutes, please. It’s important.” I heard him sigh. He didn’t want to, but he would. I would make him talk to me. We needed this talk.

“What is it then, Amber?”

“Do you love me?” I was blunt. 

“You know I do.”

Why did he sound like he didn’t care? Why did he always have to have the same cold voice?

“Do I? You haven’t said it once since I did. Why don’t you say it?”

I probably sounded like a needy child. I didn’t care. I needed to know.

“I didn’t think I had to. What brought this on?”

I didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “It came to mind, I guess. Is it wrong to want you to say you love me once in a while?”

I heard him sigh on the other side of the line. I could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He didn’t answer me for a while. 

He didn’t answer at all. He hung up.

I put the phone down. He didn’t love me. I fell onto the couch, the sound of the news like static in the background. I clutched a pillow to my chest. There were tears running down my face.

I was like that for an hour until someone knocked on the door, interrupting my suffering.

I almost didn’t get up to answer. I knew I looked like a mess. But I got up anyway. 

When I opened the door, I didn’t expect to see him there. 

He lightly pushed me back into my apartment and shut the door behind him. I stood in one spot, staring at the floor. Why was he here?

Jonathan pulled me closer to him and pressed his lips to the top of my head.

“I do love you, Amber,” he muttered. “You know you’re the only one I love.”

I vaguely remembered him saying that before.

I pulled away from him. Something was in his hand. A folder.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Something I thought you’d like to look at.”

I took it from him and opened it. It was his analysis of the batman. Albeit one in progress, but it was something he would never show anyone. And he was right, it was something I would like to look at. He knew I was interested in the batman. I talked about him often. So often, I thought Jonathan had stopped paying attention. He hadn’t.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I make such a big deal out of things. I know I can be annoying.”

“You’re not as bad as you think you are. I work with people who bother me far more than you do.”

I laughed.

“Thank you for coming, Jonathan.”

He kissed the top of my head again. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a sweet moment for you guys before I ruin their lives :)


	24. November 2005

_ Nothin' lasts forever _

_ And we both know hearts can change _

_ And it's hard to hold a candle _

_ In the cold November rain _

_ -November Rain (Guns N’ Roses) _

The room was abuzz with all sorts of news. Some were talking about Batman, the new name of Gotham’s vigilante. Others were talking about a gala Bruce Wayne had held a few days before. And others were talking about the asylum. The asylum was under investigation again. More rumors about malpractice were circulating. This time, the rumors were about Jeremiah Arkham himself. 

Paul wanted me to try the story again. I refused. I didn’t want to go back to the asylum. I didn’t want to go back to the screams. I couldn’t have another panic attack in my car because of the place. I couldn’t. It was pathetic.

The thing is, no one else wanted to do the story either. Paul wanted someone to try, though. So he had us draw names.

I was the chosen one.

I wasn’t surprised. I had some of the worst luck ever.

It was raining when I went back to the asylum. I sat in my car before going to the doors. My head was on the steering wheel, as I was trying to prepare myself. I couldn’t have a repeat of what had happened the last time. I couldn’t come back to sit in my car and have another panic attack.

After gathering my thoughts, I went inside the asylum. I didn’t want to look like a mess for my investigation. No need for my physical appearance to reflect what I was feeling.

I was so much more nervous this time than the last. This time, Jeremiah Arkham wasn’t expecting me. He didn’t know I was here.

Jonathan didn’t know either. I knew he didn’t like it when I came here. Especially when it was for my job. 

I hoped he wouldn’t find me.

This time, I would not talk to Jeremiah Arkham if I could help it. I knew he wouldn’t talk to me. And I didn’t want to talk to him. There was a mutual feeling of distaste between us.

There were three people I wanted to speak to. Dr. Leland, the woman I’d met a year ago, Aaron Cash, a guard I’d been told was trustworthy, and one of the patients, Victor Zsasz. I didn’t want to speak to Victor Zsasz, but Vicki told me he was intelligent and willing to talk. She warned me not to make him angry, though. 

I could do this. All I had to do was avoid Dr. Arkham and Jonathan. Easy. This place was gigantic. I could make it to Dr. Leland’s office without running into them. 

I couldn’t avoid the screaming, though, as much as I wanted to.

______________________________________________________________________________

I sat in the patient’s visiting room, waiting for Victor Zsasz. My hands were shaking under the table.

Dr. Leland and Aaron Cash had given me a little information, but not enough to implicate anyone. But what I’d gotten was better than nothing, even if I felt they were holding back information. And I’d avoided Jonathan and Dr. Arkham. I’d made sure to tell Leland and Cash not to tell either of the doctors I had been talking to them. They agreed, though I can tell they thought it was odd.

The door opened and the scarred man walked in, hands and feet chained, with a guard beside him. Zsasz sat down and the guard stood off to the side. I wanted the guard gone. I didn’t want him knowing what I was talking about.

“Can you leave us alone?” I asked. The guard stiffly shook his head. I shifted. I could feel Zsasz’s eyes on me.

“Please? I would appreciate it,” I tried again.

“Miss, this man-”

“I’m aware, but I need to talk to him alone. Please? I won’t tell anyone,” I said. My hands shook under the table. I didn’t know how to get the guard to leave.

“Are you always this persistent?” the guard asked.

“No, I’m annoying. And as a journalist, I can be more annoying if you want. You wanna find out?” The guard visibly stiffened. 

“Ten minutes,” he said gruffly. He turned and left.

My hands continued shaking. I started the tape recorder under the table so the serial killer wouldn’t see my shaking hands. I tried not to look at the tally marks on his skin.

“Hello, Mr. Zsasz. I’m Amber Connery. I work for the Gotham Gazette as a journalist,” I started explaining to the man. He stared at me. His eyes were dark pools. They looked black.

“You work with Ms. Vale, correct?” the man asked. I nodded. “She was far more talkative than you are.”

“Yeah, she is.” I shifted in my chair.

“Are you nervous, Ms. Connery?”

“I think I would be a fool not to be.”

Victor laughed lightly. “You are a smart woman, then. Ask your questions.”

“There have been rumors of malpractice in this place. Is there any truth to them?” I asked him. He interlocked his fingers on the table.

Everyone thought this man was insane to the point he was unintelligent. I could see they were wrong.

“Can you be more specific?”

I hated his voice. It was like Jonathan’s. Cold and calculating. But I knew Jonathan. I knew how he talked. I knew when he meant something and when he didn’t mean something. At least, I thought it did. I didn’t know this man at all.

“I’m afraid I can’t as I don’t know any specifics. But you would know if something wrong was going on, wouldn’t you?”

“Most likely. I’m unsure whether or not you are aware or not, but many of the doctors hate their patients.”

I could believe him.

“Why?”

“We’re all a lost cause, Ms. Connery. We’re all, in a word, zombies just waiting to die. I know this; they know this. If you think about it, they’re doing the same things as I have done. They, however, do not get caught.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, intrigued by what he said. “Is it all the doctors?”

“No, it is not all of them. What they are doing is unknown to me. Why do you think the others are always screaming?”

I had wondered about the screaming. I assumed it was because they were, well, insane. And I’m sure that’s what some screams were. But others, they sounded like they were in pain. Screams that shouldn’t be heard in a hospital like this.

“Do you know of any doctors that might be doing these things?” I asked. His eyes went from me to his fingers.

“I have a few in mind.”

“Can you give me their names?”

“What do I get in return?” he asked lazily.

I paused. I knew I couldn’t get this man anything. I knew that he knew that.

“I can’t give you anything,” I said.

“Then I’m afraid I cannot give you any names.” His fingers started tracing the tally marks on his arm. Our time was running out. I needed the names.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Confirmation of a fact, that is all I will ask from you,” he said. He continued tracing his scars. It put me on edge. He knew that.

“Fine, after I get the names.”

“Then we have a deal. I assume that because you have nothing to write with, you are recording this conversation, yes? Under the table, because your hands are shaking,” the man said, lifting his head to look at me. He wasn’t asking a question. He knew this was a fact.

“I am. Now, the names please.”

“Dr. Jeremiah Arkham is the name I’ve heard most often,” he started. 

Jeremiah Arkham was the reason I was here.

“Another doctor whom I have not met, but others seem to be afraid of, is Hugo Strange,” he continued. I didn’t know a man named Hugo Strange.

“Those are the two prominent names I’ve heard. There may have been more, but they would not be nearly as bad as those two,” Zsasz said.

“So that is all?” I said. We only had a matter of minutes left.

“There is one more name I’ve heard often, but I want my confirmation first-”

“I said after I get the names!”

“Do you want my other name or not?”

I did.

“Are you in a relationship with Dr. Jonathan Crane?” he asked, much to my surprise.

“Yes, but what does that matter?” I asked. He didn’t answer.

“Interesting,” he muttered.

“What is the last name?” I said quickly. I could hear the guard’s footsteps coming back.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he said. A wicked smile crossed his features.

I almost dropped the tape recorder.

The door opened.

“Miss, your time is up,” the guard said.

“I-uh, yes. Thank you for leaving us,” I said. Then I turned to Zsasz. “Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Ms. Connery, it was no problem. Come back at any time. And good luck,” Victor Zsasz said to me before the guard escorted me out of the room.

“What was so important that you needed to be alone with that man?” the guard asked.

“I needed answers to a question.”

“Did you get them?”

“Yeah.”

Some of them I could have been better off without.

“I can find my own way out,” I said, pushing myself away from the guard.

I hurried through the halls. It seemed that no matter where I was, the screaming would find me.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Get to the doors, get to the car,” I whispered repeatedly to myself.

“Amber?”

Shit.

I stopped.

“Jonathan, hello.”

What was I supposed to say? And if I was to believe Zsasz, how could I look at this man?

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He wasn’t happy. I could see it by the way he was looking at me.

“I just-I just needed to-uh- to talk to someone,” I stammered.

“Are you alright?” 

No, no, I wasn’t fucking alright.

“Fine,” I lied. Jonathan knew I was lying.

“Your hands are shaking,” he noticed.

“It’s just the screaming. It’s… loud.”

“Do you want me to walk you out?”

He wanted to. He wanted to make sure I would leave.

“I’ll be okay. I’m sure you’re busy.”

“At the moment I am not,” he said. He took my wrist and started pulling me along. I let him.

“Amber, you know I don’t want you coming here.”

“Paul told me to. I can’t tell my boss no,” I whispered.

“Why are you here?”

I couldn’t lie to him. Jonathan always knew when I was lying.

“Same reason as last time.”

“And did you get anything new?”

“Nothing very important.”

I hoped he would take the half-truth. I hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions. 

“I don’t want you coming here again,” Jonathan said when we got to the doors.

“I won’t,” I promised. It wasn’t a hard promise to make. I hated this place. I never wanted to come back.

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I nodded. That was all I could do. I was afraid of what I would say if I talked.

Even leaving, I was afraid. What I was afraid of the most, I couldn’t say.


	25. December 2005

_ Spare me your judgments and spare me your dreams _

_ 'Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams _

_ I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind _

_ -Thistle and Weeds (Mumford and Sons) _

Jonathan and I hadn’t spent Christmas together since we were twelve if I remember correctly. I remember giving him a copy of stories by Washington Irving. That was the last time we spent Christmas together.

I hadn’t celebrated Christmas since I left Georgia. I spent it by myself. I had no family to spend it with, and I never really had friends. One of the few friends I had in college was a Christian. She tried to get me to go to church with her one Christmas. She didn’t want to accept that I was an atheist. Our friendship hadn’t lasted long after that.

If I was being honest, I didn’t want to spend Christmas with Jonathan. It was barely a month after I’d learned what I had from Zsasz. I didn’t want to risk saying anything that might make him suspicious. I didn’t want to admit that I was afraid. I didn’t want to admit to myself that Jonathan could do something as bad as what Zsasz implied.

Even if I knew he could do something bad.

Honestly, when I said celebrating, I meant we were together in the same room. He was working. Again. I was curled up on a chair listening to Mariah Carey while drinking hot chocolate. The scene was domestic. The atmosphere was not.

“Something wrong, Amber?”

I shook my head. I took a sip of my drink.

“Don’t lie to me. I know something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m thinking. That’s all,” I said.

“What are you thinking about then?”

“Us.”

“What about us?” Jonathan put down the folders he’d been holding. His attention was completely on me.

I wished it weren’t. It would be easier if he was paying attention to his work. Then he’d only be half paying attention to me.

“You care about me, right?” I start out. 

“Yes, I do. We’ve talked about this,” he sighed.

“Have you ever lied to me? And I mean ever. Even when we were kids,” I said next. It took him a little longer to answer this question.

“There may have been times I never told you the full truth, but I have never lied outright.”

“And you’re telling the truth now?” I asked. I found it hard to believe him.

“Yes, Amber. Why are you asking me this?”

“Why don’t you like it when I go to the asylum? Even if it’s for my job you don’t want me going.”

“You have a severe case of phonophobia. Why you picked this city to live in, I will never understand. Of course, I’m going to attempt to keep you away from any triggers,” he said.

His reasoning sounded reasonable. I know that he could have been being genuine. It could have been part of the reason. But I didn’t believe it was the entire reason.

“What do you think about the stories I’ve been trying to get when I go to Arkham?” I asked. It was a risky question in my mind.

“I don’t want you doing them,” he said.

“Why?”

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble. You’re going to get yourself into something you won’t be able to get out of.”

“What gives you that idea? Do you know anything?”

“It’s something you should expect out of this city. If you continue to look into this, you’ll find answers I don’t think you want.”

“What kinds of answers?” I asked him.

He didn’t answer my question. He went back to whatever he was working on. I didn’t press for an answer. 

I took another sip of my hot chocolate. It had gotten cold. I drank it anyway.

I looked at the papers Jonathan had been stacking next to him. They were in two piles. The papers looked like patient information. He was sorting them.

“Those aren’t all your patients, are they?” I asked. He glanced at me before flipping through the papers again.

“No. A few doctors have asked me for their opinions on their patients.”

“Why are you sorting them?”

“I’m keeping my patients separate from the others,” he said. And as I stood, he added, “Now, are you done interrogating me?”

“I wasn’t,” I muttered. I went to the kitchen and put my mug on the counter. I stared out the window. It was snowing. The lights on the buildings looked beautiful. Gotham never looked beautiful. It was always dull and drab. But at that moment, Gotham was a vision.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” I called to him. 

All that responded was the shuffling of paper.

Little did he know, questioning him wasn’t what I was apologizing for. It was for what I would be doing; investigating him.

I wasn’t done with the Arkham story.


	26. January 2006

_ You're not such an easy target _

_ One minute I know you then I don't _

_ -Who Are You (SVRCINA) _

“You’re still on the asylum story?” Vicki asked me. I nodded, barely paying attention to her. I flipped through the papers on my desk. Normally, it was organized. As of late, my desk had been a mess.

“What are you trying to find?”

“Anything. Something fucked up is going on at that place. Whatever it is, it needs to be stopped.”

“Any leads?” she asked.

“Not any good ones. The only thing worth anything came from one of the patients. Not sure how that’ll hold up, though.” I said. And it was true. The information was coming from doctors and guards who didn't want to talk. And the one who did talk was insane.

“Any names get dropped?”

“Two. He mentioned there were others, but not as bad as the two he gave me. One was Jeremiah Arkham. The other was Hugo Strange,” I told her. I didn’t mention Jonathan had been another name.

“Hugo Strange? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Neither have I. No one has, apparently. I’ve been trying to find records of him. I can’t find anything,” I said as I continued to rifle through stacks of paper. “No bank records, no birth records. Nothing.”

“So he just appeared?” Vicki asked. “Did you ask your boyfriend about him?”

“Yeah, Jonathan said Arkham hired him. That’s all he knew. Strange was hired about six months ago.”

“Do you need help with the story?” she asked. I paused. It would help to have someone else looking for information. 

I just didn’t want her finding out about Jonathan.

“If you hear anything, let me know, will you?” I asked. “I’ll credit you.”

“No problem. Good luck, Amber.” 

“Thanks, Vicki.”

The mysterious Hugo Strange perplexed me. I was pretty sure he was German. And everything I’d told Vicki was true. That was it. That was all I knew. It was nothing.

Dr. Arkham was the nephew of Amadeus Arkham, the founder of the asylum. He wasn’t very well known either. But there were at least records of him.

Jonathan beyond the age of eighteen was unknown to me. I should have known something, but he never told me anything. I wanted to start with him, but I knew the others were more important. And less personal.

“Start at the top,” I muttered. “Start at the top and it’ll be easier to get to the others.”

I flipped through the files on Jeremiah Arkham. He had a belief that his patients could be rehabilitated and housed in society through the use of aversion therapy. Even ones like Zsasz. He also had recently renovated the entire asylum. As far as I knew, Arkham had no previous places of employment. No employers I could talk to. The only place I could think of where someone could tell me something about him was Gotham University. 

I reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“This is Amber Connery from the Gotham Gazette. Can I speak to Dr. Long?”

“A moment, please.”

I held the phone to my ear.

“He’s available at the moment. Please wait as I transfer you.”

I waited.

“Dr. Long speaking. What is it?”

“Hello. I’m Amber Connery from the Gotham Gazette. Do you mind if I ask you about Jeremiah Arkham? As I understand, he used to be a student at the university.”

“He was. Jeremiah was an interesting man. He had strange beliefs and ideas. What is this information for?” he asked.

“Rumors about malpractice. His name was mentioned. Could you give me any insight as to why?”

“He had strange thoughts, as I said. We encouraged him not to dwell upon them.”

“What sorts of ideas?” I pressed.

“Forgive me, but I cannot remember. I believe some may have been about the act of murder. He used to be friends with a woman named Alyce Sinner. She would more than likely know more than I would.”

“Where could I find her?” I asked.

“I could not say. Is there anything else? I am a very busy man, Ms. Connery,” he said.

“What can you tell me about Jonathan Crane? He went here too, didn’t he?” I asked suddenly.

“Jonathan was an… even more interesting man than Jeremiah. Jonathan had obsessions. Jeremiah did not,” Dr. Long said. He sounded nervous.

“Obsessions?”

“He taught here for a time, actually. He was performing experiments on a particular subject. We had to release him.”

“Were they about fear?” I asked. I hoped he said no.

“They were,” he sounded surprised as he said this. “How did you know?”

“We know each other. Thank you for your time, Dr. Long,” I said, jotting down the last of his words. I put the phone down.

Alyce Sinner. I needed to find Alyce Sinner.

I flipped through more paper.

“Where is the damn phone book?” I muttered. “Vicki!”

Her head popped up. “Yeah, Amber?”

“Where’s the phone book? I just had it on my desk. It’s gone,” I said. “Did you see someone take it?”

“No-hey, James! Have you seen the phone book?” Vicki called. He shook his head. I started going through more paper.

“How the hell could it have just walked off,” I muttered to myself. I needed to talk to this woman. This Alyce Sinner.

I set the papers down. There was no point in looking at them. 

I went to my computer. I typed Alyce Sinner into the search bar.

“You’re looking her up on the internet? That’s kinda creepy,” Vicki said as she passed by. 

“No more creepy than finding her number in the book,” I said. It wasn’t like I wanted her address. I just wanted her phone number. 

And I found it. Along with a picture. Dr. Alyce Sinner. An average looking female. Her special features were seven red ribbons in her hair. And she was a psychiatrist, here in Gotham. I punched the numbers into the phone and waited.

“Dr. Alyce Sinner. What can I do for you?” a female voice answered.

“Hello, Dr. Sinner. My name is Amber Connery from the Gotham Gazette. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I promise it won’t take long.”

“Alright, then. It doesn’t matter to me; I’m free for the afternoon.”

“You knew Jeremiah Arkham, correct?” I asked.

“I did. We dated once, a while back.”

I wrote that down.

“Really? What can you tell me about him?” I asked. “As a person or a doctor.”

“From the moment I met him, I knew there was something off about him. Even when we were dating. Do you mind if I tell you a story he told me if you have time?” she asked.

“Of course not. I’m free as well,” I said, pen poised to write.

“Some time ago, he encountered an escaped patient from the asylum outside a liquor store. The man had a shotgun. And Jeremiah is smart, as I’m sure you’re well aware. He said the right things to get the patient to back down,” Alyce said. She paused. I took the moment to complete my sentences.

“What happened after that?” I asked, encouraging her to continue.

“Instead of putting the gun down, the lunatic put it to his chin and pulled the trigger. His head was blown off,” she said. I noticed how she told the story with no falter in her voice.

“That must have been traumatizing for him,” I said, making note of the last things she said.

“One would think, wouldn’t they, Amber?” she asked. I shivered at the sound of her voice saying my name. “But he wasn’t, not when he told me. In fact, his ideas were somewhat disturbing. He was more interested in the actual act of murder rather than thinking about it. What does that tell you?”

“I couldn’t say Dr. Sinner,” I said. I underlined the sentence about murder three times. That was important.

“I believe you know more than you want yourself to think, Amber,” Alyce said. “You’re connected to the asylum too, aren’t you?”

I didn’t know how she could know that. Yet she was right.

“I am,” I said, trying to let confidence leak into my voice.

“Do not let yourself get pulled in. That building was never to be a sanctuary or a place of healing when they designed it. It is not a place of forgiveness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Amadeus Arkham did not believe in forgiveness and neither does Jeremiah. Be careful.”

I wrote down her warning. I didn’t know what she meant.

“Do you believe in God, Amber?” she asked without warning. What did that matter?

“No, I don’t,” I answered.

“Do you mind if I give you a piece of advice from Him, anyway?”

“Go ahead.”

“‘But no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison,’” she recited. 

“What do you mean to say by telling me this?” I asked her. I knew it meant that a person could harm with words. I remembered that when I went to church as a child. But what did she mean by it?

“As I said, it is a piece of advice. And in your line of work, I think it is very fitting.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sinner. Is there anything else you can tell me?” I asked.

“I can’t think of anything at the moment, but if I remember something, I’ll call.”

“Thank you, again. I appreciate your willingness to speak with me,” I said. I was about to hang up when she started talking again.

“Might I ask what you need this information for?”

“Rumors of malpractice at the asylum. I’m trying to see if there is any truth to them.”

“Ah, I see. Well, good luck, Amber. I do believe you’ll need it.”

I put the phone down. I couldn’t help but find the woman to be unnerving, even over the phone. Her voice sent shivers down my spine.

Somehow I got the feeling she knew more than she said.

“Amber, you okay?” James asked. I broke from the trance I’d been in.

“Yeah,” I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I looked at what I’d written. Two sources weren’t all that much. Three, if one counted the word of Victor Zsasz. I laid my head in my hands. What more could I do? Who else could I talk to? Not just about Arkham, but about Strange and Jonathan, too. Something was missing. I was missing something. There was no way the information I had could be all there was. There had to be more. 

Finding that information is what would be difficult.


	27. January 2006

_ When angels fall with broken wings _

_ I can't give up, I can't give in _

_ When all is lost and daylight ends _

_ I'll carry you and we will live forever, for ever _

_ -Angels Fall (Breaking Benjamin) _

I wanted to throw something. I’d tried looking everywhere for anything on Jonathan, Dr. Arkham, or Hugo Strange. There was nothing worth anything to me. Alyce Sinner was the only one who’d given me any decent information. But she hadn’t contacted me again since we last spoke.

I wanted to bash my head against the desk. I didn’t. I just let it drop.

“Amber!” someone hissed. I didn’t pick my head up. “Amber, get up. The cops are here!”

My head shot up. 

At the front of the office, two cops talked to Paul. Why were they here?

And why were they coming toward me?

“Just walk by. Please,” I muttered to myself while lowering my eyes.

“Amber, these gentlemen would like to speak with you,” Paul said.

Damn it.

“Is there somewhere private we could talk?” the cop with a mustache asked.

“My office,” Paul offered.

“If you please, Ms. Connery,” the same officer asked. I followed him and the other man to Paul’s office. The man without the mustache shut the door behind us.

“So what can I help you with?” I asked the two cops. “If I can?”

“We hope you can,” the mustached one said. “My name is Captain James Gordon. My partner here is Detective Harvey Bullock. We have a few questions about someone you spoke to three days ago.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Alyce Sinner,” the captain said.

“I’m sorry, but why? I’m not in trouble, am I? I haven’t harassed her if that-”

“She’s dead,” Bullock interrupted bluntly. My mouth snapped shut. I hadn’t considered the possibility she could be dead. But who would?

“Excuse me?” I said. It was all I could think of to say. What was I supposed to say? What could I say?

“She was found dead in her home the day after you spoke to her,” Captain Gordon explained.

“I-uh-” I tried to form words, but couldn’t figure out what to say. What could I say?

“Can you tell us what you talked to her about?” Gordon asked. I could. Just because I could, didn't mean I wanted to.

“I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about the asylum,” I started to explain. Detective Bullock snorted. He obviously knew about them. 

“Who hasn’t?” the detective asked.

“I’ve been investigating them,” I continued. “Dr. Sinner was a contact I found. All I asked her about was one doctor. I asked what they were like.” 

My answer was vague. I’m sure they knew who I was talking about, anyway. I was sure Gordon knew, at least.

“Did she give any indication that she thought she was in danger?” Gordon asked.

“None. She sounded relaxed. Normal, I guess. That’s the best way to put it.”

“Did you two ever meet in person?” 

“Never. We only spoke once. Why would someone kill her?”

“That’s what we wanna figure out,” Bullock said. 

I decided that I liked these two.

“Is there anything you can think of that would aid our investigation?” Gordon asked. I shook my head.

“Call us if you learn anything,” Gordon said. I nodded. They left, and I went back to my desk. 

“Damn it,” I mumbled. I pulled out file after file from a pile. My only good lead was dead.

“What the hell do I do now?” I muttered.

Later that night, my normally clean living room was a mess. My notes were spread across the floor. Files were on my sofa. I was cross-legged on my floor with a cup of coffee sitting next to me. There had to be more information. Something I was missing. There had to be something else. Anything else.

I picked up the mug next to me.

Nothing was in it.

“Seriously?” I whined. I picked myself off the floor and walked into the kitchen. It was nearing two in the morning. I should have been going to bed.

I poured more coffee. I added too much cream and sugar.

When I walked back into the other room, the mug fell out of my hand.

Batman was standing in the middle of the room.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I shouted at the man. Thing. Whatever the ‘Batman’ was. Then I noticed the open window.

“You’re the one investigating the asylum,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I am,” I stated, not moving from my spot. I was hesitant to get any closer to this person. Thing. I didn’t care how interested I was in Batman. I wouldn’t be getting closer.

“What do you know?”

“Why should I tell you? You know the cops are out for you. I could call them right now.”

“Believe me, you’ll need my help. Tell me what you know.”

He wasn’t giving up. I sighed and, feeling I wasn’t in any immediate danger, I moved closer to him. I was careful not to step on any broken pieces of ceramic.

“Nothing, really. The two people that have taken precedence in my investigation have virtually nothing on them,” I said.

“Jeremiah Arkham and Hugo Strange.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. How he knew that, I couldn’t say. Then again, he figured out where I lived.

“There’s another one. Jonathan Crane.”

“Yes,” I confirmed again, albeit quieter. He shouldn’t have known that. How did he know that? I hadn’t told anyone about Jonathan.

“Who have you been investigating the most?”

“Jeremiah Arkham. I thought if I started at the top, it would be easier to weed out the ones below him. It hasn’t worked, though. Dr. Alyce Sinner was my best lead, and now she’s dead. Dead the day after I talked to her. Someone knew. They must have.”

“Someone knew,” Batman said. He added nothing to his statement. No, he picked up my files and started paging through them. If he had been anyone else, I would have done or said something.

But this was Batman.

“Do you have a list of patients Dr. Arkham treats himself?” he asked, continuing to thumb through the paper.

“Of course not. I’m not privy to that information,” I said.

“Your boyfriend would know.”

How did he know about me and Jonathan? Almost no one knew. How, was apparently the big question with this man.

“Yeah, he probably would. How would it look if I asked him for that list? He doesn’t even know I’m running the story!”

“Because you’re investigating him, too.”

“Yes. You can’t possibly imagine how that makes me feel!” I snapped at him. “What would you do if it was you? If you had to lie to someone you love, someone you care about. I can’t ask him for a list. What the hell would I even say?”

“Lie. We both know that something is wrong at Arkham. I’m conducting an investigation of my own. Let me help you. It’s a better idea to let me leak information to you and let you publish it,” Batman said in a heartbeat. I crossed my arms and lowered my eyes. He was right. He had a warrant out for his arrest. It wasn’t like he could go to the cops. And I could list him as an anonymous source.

“Jonathan’s probably still awake,” I sighed, dropping my arms to my sides. “What do I say?”

“He can’t give you the names; it’s illegal. Tell him you’re aware of that. I’ve learned that Dr. Arkham only has a few patients. Tell Dr. Crane you’re writing about a particular disorder. He can tell you if Dr. Arkham has a patient with it,” Batman explained.

“And if he asks why it has to be one of Dr. Arkham’s patients?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“Great,” I muttered. I dialed Jonathan’s number. He picked up immediately.

“What, Amber?”

He sounded upset. Oh well.

“Don’t yell at me. I know you were awake anyway,” I glanced at Batman. He nodded. “I need you to do a favor for me.”

“At two in the morning?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah. I just thought about it. Paul wants to run something about the difference between sociopathy and psychopathy,” I said before glancing at Batman again. He nodded.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. We do live in Gotham, in case you forgot. The people should know the difference between the two,” I lied. I hoped I sounded convincing.

“What’s the difference?” he asked. Maybe he believed my lie.

“I have no idea, but I’ll know after we run it.”

I needed to research them. Jonathan would no doubt quiz me later.

“Anyway, I know it’s illegal to give patient names; it’s against HIPPA and most likely a ton of other guidelines. But can you tell me if any of the patients are sociopaths?” I asked. I bit my lip.

“There are, yes, but you’re not-”

“You can ask if they’ll talk to me. You don’t have to give me a name. Are any of them Dr. Arkham’s patients?”

“What does it matter?”

“I’ve heard that he has fewer patients than the other doctors. I thought it would be easier to set up a time with him,” I explained.

“You’re not doing it. You’re not coming here,” he said. I knew that this was coming.

“Phone interview, then. Supervised if it has to be. Please, Jonathan. No one else wants anything to do with the asylum. This will be the last time; I swear.”

Jonathan sighed over the phone. I took the moment to look at Batman. Again, he nodded. I must have been doing good.

“I’ll talk to him. That’s it,” Jonathan said firmly.

“Thank you. And don’t tell Arkham it’s me. I don’t think he likes me. Tell him it’s Vale or another journalist.”

“Fine. Is that all, then?”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you again. I love you.”

He hung up.

“There. It’s done,” I said to Batman.

He nodded, then left through the window a split second later. I hoped he wouldn’t come back. What was the point of all of that? There was no way that helped him.

I turned back toward the kitchen. There was still coffee, and a broken mug to clean up.

So many lies were piling up. I’d have to lie to get out of this mess, too, if I didn’t want Jonathan knowing what I was doing. Or anyone at the asylum, at that.

I thought back to Jonathan’s analysis of Batman. It was accurate based on what I’d witnessed of the Bat. Except for one thing. Jonathan said Batman had no loved ones. I disagreed with that. He must have had them. And then I thought about what I’d said about lying to people you love. Maybe he did understand what I was talking about. Surely he was a normal person during the day. He must need to lie.

That makes him either incredibly crazy or incredibly brave.

I felt it was the latter.


	28. February 2006

_ See, I do believe anger is offset by sorrow _

_ But you destroy today you might regret tomorrow _

_ -We 3 (Soul Asylum) _

“Hello? Yes, this is Vicki Vale to speak with a patient. Yes, I can wait a few minutes.”

My nerves were skyrocketing. 

Somehow, someway, Jonathan had convinced ‘Vicki Vale’ to speak with a patient. I had called into work to say I was working from home today. I hadn’t been asked why, which I was thankful for. I wasn’t sure how it would sound to say that I was assuming someone else’s identity in order to talk to an Arkham patient. As much as Vicki seemed to like me, I don’t think she would appreciate me using her name to do what I was doing. I’d have to make sure she didn’t find out.

Lying was hard.

I nearly dropped the phone when the door to my apartment opened. Jonathan was not supposed to be here.

“You’re back early,” I said as he made his way into my apartment.

“I wasn’t needed today. Is that a problem?” he asked. 

Yes. Yes, it was. That would mean I would have a harder time asking the relevant questions. If I left to go into my bedroom, it would look odd. It would look suspicious.

“No, there isn’t,” I said. Jonathan sat next to me and started stroking my hair. Of all the places he could go. Right beside me. I forced myself to smile,

“Ms. Vale?” the female voice came over the phone.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be patching you over to our patient now. Hang up when you are finished.”

“Thank you,” I said. Jonathan’s fingers continued to stroke my hair. There was a moment’s pause before the patient spoke. My blood ran cold at the familiar voice. Victor fucking Zsasz. The situation really couldn’t have gotten much worse.

“Hello, Ms. Vale. I’m afraid I must be honest, but I would have preferred to hear Ms. Connery’s voice,” he said.

“Hello,” I said to him. He gasped. Theatrical, of course.

“Oh, Ms. Connery. Pray tell, why are you pretending to be Ms. Vale?” he asked.

“I have my reasons,” I answered. “Could you hold for a moment?”

“You’re not alone, are you? No, Dr. Crane must be right beside you.” 

“Perhaps. A moment, please.”

Jonathan’s fingers were threaded in my hair. He was staring straight ahead. He was mocking me. He knew, he knew the truth to my shoddy lie. He was making a show of ignorance.

“You’re sure you want to listen to this?” I asked.

“Act as if I’m not here,” he said. I put the phone back to my ear.

“Ms. Connery. I understand what you want. There’s no need to ask me anything. Just listen,” Zsasz said.

I didn’t understand how he could talk so freely. Unless he bribed the guards to leave him alone. I didn’t doubt it.

“Alright,” I said. My notebook was poised on the arm of the couch, away from Jonathan.

“Dr. Arkham is a cruel man, yes he is. There is no doubt about that. However, his cruelty only shows itself with, let's call it, a little push.”

“Elaborate.”

“First, tell me, how is the investigation of little Alyce Sinner going?”

“How-?” I stopped. I couldn’t ask.

“Rumors circulate quickly through the asylum, Ms. Connery. Such as the belief that the Black Mask killed her.”

He was correct. Rumor had it Roman Sionis killed her. Even though it made no sense at all. He had no reason to.

“Now, we both know that makes no sense. Why would Roman kill Dr. Sinner? He wouldn’t, is the answer. But who would?” Zsasz continued. My mind jumped to Jeremiah Arkham. But could he really kill someone? An ex, nonetheless.

Jonathan’s fingers tugged at my hair. I turned and faintly smiled. Tried to, anyway. I doubt it was very convincing.

“Please tell me,” I said.

“I think you already know.”

“What did you mean by your earlier statement?”

“A push?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been told I can be quite… persuasive. But only if the desire is already there,” he said. I could hear the malice in his quiet voice. I could picture his eyes being blank as he talked. Or maybe they would be excited. Maybe it would be one of the few times he’d show excitement.

“Will that be all then?” Zsasz asked. 

“Yes. Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Always a pleasure… Ms. Vale.”

The line went dead.

“Now, Amber,” Jonathan broke the silence, “ please tell me the difference between a sociopath and a psychopath.”

“Well…” I wracked my brain. I’d forgotten to research the difference. “Psychopaths are more unstable than sociopaths?” It was a pathetic answer. I knew that, and judging by his raised eyebrow, he knew that.

“Explain.”

I paused. “I mean, psychopaths are more dangerous because they don’t feel emotion while sociopaths still feel some emotion?”

“I suppose that is a suitable answer coming from you,” he consented after a few moments. The thinly veiled insult was not missed. 

I close my notebook. I realized I hadn’t written anything in it. 

“You know I’m lying.” It wasn’t a question. 

“You’ve always been a terrible liar. Did you really think I’d believe your cheap lie?”

“Why did you still let me talk to the patient if you knew I was lying?”

“Curiosity. You did an excellent job avoiding saying anything that would give you away.”

He was patronizing me. That much was clear.

“Oh my God, will you shut up?” I snapped. I got up. “Stop demeaning me! I’m capable. I lied because I know how you get! But I’m done, I’m fucking done. Are you happy?”

He didn’t answer. Good for him. I walked to my room and threw the notebook on the bed. Like a child. This time I wasn’t lying. I was done. I would tip off the cops and that would be the end.

“Tell me you’ve never lied to me!” I yelled as I walked back to him. Again, he didn’t answer.

“How can you be so hypocritical? You tell me not to lie to you, but you lie to me! I know you do,” I continued to yell. I didn’t care if my neighbors heard me.

“What have I been lying about?” he asked calmly. I hated that he was calm. I wanted him to scream at me the way I was yelling at him. I wanted him angry. I didn’t want to be the only one who felt emotions in this stupid relationship.

“You’re awake at two o’clock in the fucking morning almost every day! I know it’s not work related. If you don’t lie to me, tell me what you’re doing. No one can be that obsessed with their work!”

Jonathan stood. He towered over me. He was trying to intimidate me, but I wasn’t about to let him do that.

“It’s a side project. That is all you need to know,” he said. That’s all I needed to know? Did he seriously not trust me enough to tell me?

“Fine. Fine. That’s fine for now.”

It wasn’t fucking fine. Not even a little. It was infuriating he wouldn’t talk to me. After years of knowing me, he still didn’t want to trust me. 

Sometimes I wished I could hate him.


	29. September 2006

_ Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time. _

_ Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines _

_ Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way _

_ The time is gone, the song is over, _

_ Thought I'd something more to say _

_ -Time (Pink Floyd) _

I could hardly believe that it was already September. The year had gone by significantly faster after I stopped investigating the asylum.

Jeremiah Arkham had been arrested for the murder of Alyce Sinner. But because of his use of the insanity plea, they had placed him into Arkham instead of a prison. I wondered what he thought of being placed into the asylum he’d formally had control over. Nothing about patient cruelty had ever been brought to light, much to my disappointment. He was out of his position of power, though. That I was thankful for.

I never saw Batman again after that night in January, though he said he would leak my information. Maybe that meant he trusted me to do my work myself.

True to my word to Jonathan Crane, I stopped investigating Arkham Asylum. Entirely. I stopped investigating the enigma that was Hugo Strange. I had to. It had taken a toll on me. I spent my days writing more desultory stories.

Jonathan and I had spent some time apart. I felt it was better for us both. It wasn’t until about August that I felt we were in a better place than we had been in February. He agreed. I knew he still wasn’t going to tell me what he had been researching in the early hours of the morning, and I knew he probably never would. I had to deal with that. 

During our time apart, Jonathan had been made the director of the asylum. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that with the rumors I knew about him. But he couldn’t be any worse than Jeremiah Arkham. Of that, I tried convincing myself.

Gotham changed drastically in seven months. Seeing Batman was now an ordinary occurrence. The police had a warrant out for his arrest, and I was sure there would always be one with Gillian Loeb as the commissioner. The crimes were getting even more violent than I ever imagined possible. The criminals were getting stranger. It was getting normal for the Gazette to publish a story about a plant lady trying to kill people. It was common to get threats from a green-haired clown. It was strange to say that I missed the times when crimes were normal. Even stranger to say I wished for a normal crime. I missed the days where the biggest criminals were the Falcone and Maroni crime families. I missed the days where the strangest criminal was Roman Sionis with his black mask. 

Things in Gotham changed quickly. There was no doubt in my mind that things would continue to change at a rapid pace. If I was being honest with myself, it terrified me more than the loudest noise ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the end, 2007 is the final year and it's a wild one!


	30. April 2007

_ I need you to tell me everything will be alright _

_ To chase away the voices in the night _

_ When they call my name _

_ Have I gone insane? _

_ -When They Call My Name (Black Veil Brides) _

“You’ll call me at noon, right?” I asked Jonathan as he was about to leave.

“I will,” he said. Leaning up, I brought him down to my level so I could kiss him. 

“I love you, Jonathan.”

“I know. I love you too,” he whispered back. 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised he said that.

Jonathan never called at noon. He never called at all. He never answered his phone when I called him. My job ended at five. No messages from him. Not one. 

“You okay, Amber?” Vicki asked. “You look like you’ve been on edge all day.”

“Jonathan never called. He said he would. I could just be getting worked up over nothing, though.”

“Maybe he forgot? I could go to the asylum with you if you’re worried. You can never be too careful in this city,” Vicki offered. I appreciated the offer, but I wouldn’t make Vicki go with me. I know she hated going there. And it wasn’t just the asylum people were afraid to be near anymore. It was the location it was at. It was near a neighborhood with the poorest of the poor. People called it the Narrows.

There was no doubt that Gotham was worse than ever.

“You don’t have to, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll just swing by and check on him.” 

______________________________________________________________________________

“Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist. “Can you tell me if Dr. Crane is still here?”

“He’s here. Should be in his office,” the woman answered. She sounded bored.

“Okay, thanks,” I answered. I turned from the woman and made my way to his office. 

I knocked when I got to his door. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer.

“Jonathan? You in there?” I turned the handle. The door was unlocked. I thought that was strange. Why leave the door unlocked? Especially in a place like this.

I went to his desk. It was cluttered with pens, papers, and well, things you’d normally find on a desk. Then I noticed something odd in the mass of paper.

“What’s this?” I picked up a scratchy piece of brown fabric. It had holes in it, and it felt like burlap. It looked like a mask.

“What the hell is this?” I asked aloud to the empty room.

Moments later, I jumped at the sound of an alarm. My heart started to beat faster. I threw the object I was holding back on the desk and ran into the hallway. Guards were rushing past me. I stopped one.

“What’s going on?” I asked. My heart was pounding.

“Patients got out of their cells. You need to leave,” the guard said before following the others. I decided to listen to him. I wouldn’t be able to find Jonathan. And he would be upset if I got attacked by an unstable patient.

He could care of himself, anyway.

______________________________________________________________________________

It was chaotic inside. Outside was worse. People were running and screaming. A fine mist rolled through the parking lot. At least, I thought it was mist. The coloration appeared off, though. Mist wasn’t green, was it?

Why did everything suddenly seem so much louder?

I felt nails dig into my skin. A man clutched at my arm, digging his nails deep into my flesh. He was screaming so loudly. He looked crazed. But the man himself wasn’t what was scaring me. It was the noise he was making. It sounded inhuman. 

“Get off!” I yelled at the man. My heart was pounding in my chest.

“Ple-please. Get them off me!” he cried. I quickly looked over him.

“There’s nothing on you! Now get off!” I screamed. He continued to hold on to my arm. He dug even deeper into my skin.

“They’re everywhere! The bugs… they’re crawling all over me,” the man groaned.

“Let me go!” I screamed once more. With every ounce of strength I possessed, I shoved him off of me. He fell to the ground and continued to scream. But instead of clawing at my skin, he clawed at his own. 

I left him when he started scratching at his face. There wasn’t anything I could have done for him.

The places where the man had dug into my skin were bleeding. He’d torn out a large piece of flesh from my arm. It hurt like hell. I could only imagine what the man was doing to himself. None of the things my mind conjured up were pretty.

Somewhere an alarm sounded. I jumped. It was so loud. Another sound came from somewhere to my left. Every person screaming sounded inhumanly loud. I was terrified.

I passed dozens of more people. I didn’t even know if I was in the parking lot anymore. Some were like the man, screaming and crying to themselves. Others were violent, attacking other people. I nearly vomited when I saw a woman rip her eyes from their sockets. My breathing hitched when I saw a child lying in the streets.

I ducked down in an alley to calm myself. It was a mystery how I’d gotten there. My hands were shaking. My legs could barely support me. I was sweating. Sticky tears ran down my face. My heart pounded in my chest. My breathing was erratic. I could still hear everything. Every scream, every noise. I heard the sounds of someone being beaten. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was somewhere else. It didn’t work.

I slid down the wall of a building and sat on the ground. I dug my nails into my palms until they started bleeding. I could barely breathe. I tried to stop crying. My head throbbed. My hands were shaking so badly. My mouth was so dry. God, I was so scared. Everything was so loud.

It felt like hours had passed when I heard a gruff man’s voice. It sounded close. I buried my face into bloody palms.

“We’ve got another one over here!” the same man yelled. I thought I recognized the voice.

“Please stop yelling. Please, please stop,” I cried. A pair of hands landed gently on my shoulders.

“It’s okay. We’ve met before. Do you remember me, Ms. Connery?” a different man whispered. I looked up to see the familiar kind face of Captain Jim Gordon. I remembered this man. I could trust this man. 

“Yes,” I whispered.

“We’re going to take you to a hospital,” the captain said in the same quiet voice. Behind him, I recognized his partner, Harvey Bullock. I was safe with these people.

For the time being, I was safe.


	31. April 2007

_ Sometimes before it gets better _

_ The darkness gets bigger _

_ The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger _

_ -Miss Missing You (Fall Out Boy) _

I hated hospitals with a passion. I hated being in them, being near them. I hated everything about them. Yet here I was, stuck in a small room with disgustingly white walls. It was about a day after I had inhaled a toxin that had made me so afraid. The doctors had cleared it from my system. That was what the mist had been. It had been a toxin created to make someone see, or in my case hear, their worst fears. Who could create something as terrifying and as dangerous as that? Who was twisted enough to create something like that?

The nurse who’d been assigned to me walked in with a smile on her face. In her hands, she held clothes.

“The doctor cleared you. You’re free to go,” she said. She handed me the contents in her hands. They were the clothes I’d worn during the attack. I would need a shower when I got home. Preferably until I felt like I wasn’t in my own skin anymore.

“Oh, and Ms. Connery? Captain Gordon is waiting for you in the lobby. He says he has a few questions for you.”

“Alright. Can you tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

The nurse left me to change. It didn’t take long, even with the slight sting of pain in my arm from where the man had torn the flesh away. I just wanted to leave.

As promised, when I reached the lobby, Captain Gordon was waiting for me.

“Ms. Connery, feeling better, I hope?” he said.

“A bit. And you can call me Amber. I’m not a huge fan of the Ms. Connery thing,” I said.

“Alright, Amber. Would you be willing to come to the precinct with me to answer a few questions?”

“I can. I assume you mean now?”

“If you’re not busy, now would be preferable.”

“Now’s fine.”

“Great. I can give you a lift if you need one,” he offered.

“I’d appreciate it. My car is still in the asylum’s parking lot,” I said.

“If you’ll follow me then,” he said. I followed him to his car and climbed into the passenger side. The ride was silent. I preferred that to noise.

______________________________________________________________________________

“So your full name is Amber Rose Connery, correct?” Commissioner Gordon asked. We were in his office. He’d said since this wasn’t an official interrogation, there would be no need to use the other rooms.

“Yes sir,” I confirmed.

“You can call me Jim. Before we start, do you have any questions for me?”

“Are you talking to everyone who witnessed the attack?”

“No. Some were killed. Others are still stuck in their nightmares,” he said. The image of the child on the ground flashed in my mind. “And I fear this may be a personal matter for you.”

“Personal? What do you mean?” I asked. There was no way the attack was personal to me. That was impossible.

“Why were you at the asylum yesterday?” Jim asked.

“I went to see my boyfriend. I was worried about him. He promised to call at noon. He didn’t call at all yesterday and never answered when I called. I went to check on him.”

“What was his name?” he asked. Somehow I got the feeling he already knew who it was.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane. I’m sorry, but why does this matter?”

“Before I continue, I need you to know that I hold you responsible for nothing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Dr. Crane has been arrested.”

“Please tell me you’re lying,” I finally whispered after what felt like an eternity of silence. I wanted him to be lying.

“I wish I could say I was. He was the one who started the attack. It was his toxin. We found his notes in his home office. Is there any reason you know of that would cause him to do this?”

“He-” I took in a shaky breath. Then I let it out. But I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking. “I don’t know. I suppose he’s always been interested in fear, I guess. I gave no thought to it. I assumed he was passionate about it, like any other person is with their work. I never really knew what he was working on in his office. He wouldn’t tell me, and he wouldn’t allow me to look.”

My throat got dry. I felt myself start to cry. “I never thought he would ever do something like this.”

“This is not your fault. I understand you’re upset, but you can’t blame yourself,” Jim tried to reassure me.

“You know, now that I think about it, I think he’s done something like this before,” I said. I remembered the incident with Bo and Sherry.

“What do you mean?” 

“Jonathan and I grew up together in the same Georgia town. Arlen. We became friends at fourteen years old. We were both bullied by others and abused. One of our bullies was Bo. He had a girlfriend named Sherry. Jonathan and I went to our senior prom together. He left for a bit, and while he was gone, I talked to another boy, Evan. Suddenly, someone started screaming, and Evan and I followed the crowd outside.” I took a deep breath. My throat was so dry.

“What happened then, Amber?” Jim asked.

“I saw a car that crashed into a tree. Bo and Sherry were in the car. Sherry was killed, and Bo was paralyzed. Jonathan didn’t show up until after all of this happened,” I finished.

“And you think Crane had something to do with it? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He was my best friend. He told me he didn’t do anything, and I wanted to believe him. I thought I knew him better than anyone.”

“But you’ve always thought he might’ve done it.”

“And I’ve always had a little fear of him because of it. You think I’d know him so well after knowing him for so long.”

Jim looked at me, a touch of sympathy in his eyes.

“You’d think so. But you never really know a person, do you?” Jim asked.

“No,” I agreed quietly. “Apparently not.”


	32. April 2007

_ City pulls me in closer than I've ever been _

_ There ain't no way I can escape _

_ Without a doubt, you know that I would tread the deepest end _

_ Thousand years forever in a day _

_ But I don't wanna drown in you _

_ I'm sinking, then I'm torn in two _

_ -Drown In You (Daughtry) _

Images of the attack flashed through my mind. The terrified people of the Narrows running about. Their frantic steps to get away from the toxin. Their screams still rang in my ears. The sight of a child laying in the street.

It’d been five days since the attack. Four since I’d found out it was Jonathan’s fault. People said it was too early for me to have returned to work. But I needed to work. I needed something to keep my mind from drifting back to what happened. Not that working was helping me forget all that much. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about  _ him _ .

I thought about leaving Gotham. Somewhere deep inside me, I doubted I’d be able to. I was as much a part of Gotham as it was now a part of me.

“Amber,” a gentle voice tore me from my thoughts. Paul stood behind me. His hands were twitching.

“Yeah?” I answered. Part of me wanted to ask him to leave me alone. But I knew that I had come in of my own volition, and would, therefore, need to do what he asked.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. I have to ask you to do something,” he apologized before sitting beside me. 

“What is it, Paul?” I asked.

“You were in the Narrows when the attack happened. You’re one of the few people who clearly remembers what happened because the toxin didn’t affect you. I need you to write an article about what happened,” he explained. Didn’t affect me?

“I can do that.” I nodded and forced a smile. He returned one, patted my hand, and left.

He couldn’t be more wrong about it not affecting me. I suppose he assumed I wasn’t affected because I didn’t describe having terrifying visions. But my fear wasn’t something that could be seen. It could only be heard.

I would write the story. Eventually. I wasn’t about to get anything done at the moment, though. There was far too much on my mind. Mainly Jonathan.

Gordon’s number sat in my pocket. He’d given it to me if I had anything else to discuss. I hadn’t used it.

I took it out of my pocket. Then I dialed the number.

“Hello. Captain Gordon? This is Amber Connery. I’d like to come in if that would be okay. It is? Great, I’ll see you later, then.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Thank you for allowing this,” I thanked Captain Gordon. We were waiting for Jonathan to be brought to one of the interrogation rooms.

“It’s no trouble. We, like you, want to know why he did this. He hasn’t said anything. We’re trying to get him to talk before he’s moved to the asylum. Maybe he’ll talk to you,” Gordon said.

“Maybe,” I answered. A cop had arrived with Jonathan. He didn’t spare a glance my way.

Jonathan sat in a chair. I sat opposite him. The cop and Gordon left the room. We were alone in the room. Gordon was no doubt watching. It had been quiet for a few moments before I spoke.

“Hello, Jonathan,” I started softly. I was met with no response. He still wouldn’t look at me.

“Why did you do it?” I asked. “Why would you do something like that? Was it because of what happened when we were children?”

“What did you see?” he asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” 

“The toxin. What did it make you see?” he asked again. He finally raised his head, and I could see his blue eyes. They were unemotional. Like always.

“Nothing,” I answered. “Now tell me why you did what you did.”

No answer.

Furious now, I slapped my hands on the table.

“God dammit, Jonathan! Answer me!” I yelled. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I didn’t want him to know how much his actions hurt me. I doubted whether he would even care.

“You didn’t see anything? That’s impossible unless… unless what you’re afraid of can’t be seen. Tell me, Amber, what was it you heard?”

This time I was the one who refused to answer.

“Was it their screams? Did they ring louder in your ears? Do they still?” he continued. His voice was the same as always. Unemotional. Clinical. Yet, there was still something dark in his tone. His voice was almost enough to make me leave. This wasn’t the Jonathan I was used to. This wasn’t the Jonathan that I loved.

“Jonathan, please tell me something,” I begged.

“I never counted on you being there,” he said. 

“The only reason I was there was you! I was worried about you! And when I heard it was you who released the toxin… for some twisted reason, I was only a little surprised. Did I know what you were going to do? No. Did I think something was wrong with you? Yes, but I didn’t do a goddamn thing! Not even when you caused Bo to crash his car!”

“You don’t know-”

“Don’t fucking say I don’t know you did that. You fucking did just admit it! You know it and I know it!” 

He didn’t answer.

“Everyone thinks I was unaffected by your toxin. They’re wrong. Do you want to know what I heard? Yes, I heard everyone’s screams, louder than they were. The toxin amplified every noise. Every single fucking sound. But this time it was your fault. I trusted you, Jonathan. I trusted you and loved you,” I said. My voice was strained.

His eyes bore into mine as if daring me to keep talking. I accepted the dare.

“You were manipulating me, weren’t you? I don’t know when you started, or if you’ve always been manipulating me, but you have. Haven’t you?” I said.

“There were times that were opportune, yes,” Jonathan agreed. It killed me to hear those words.

“Are you going to tell me why you made a-” I paused, trying to think of what to call his creation, “a fear toxin. Or am I not worth an explanation?”

Jonathan didn’t answer. That was answer enough. I was not worth an explanation.

“Okay then. Have fun in Arkham,” I said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. I was sure there was plenty of emotion dripping from my words, instead. I got up and walked to the door. My hand was on the handle when he spoke again.

“Amber,” he said. I stopped. “There was nothing you could have done to stop me.”

I said nothing as I opened the door. I didn’t turn to look back at him. I didn’t acknowledge Gordon or the other cop as I walked past them, even when Gordon called my name. I didn’t want any of them to see the tears running down my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this guys! Thanks for sticking with me for this long!


	33. May 2007

_ Time has come for letting go _

_ The hardest part is when you know _

_ All of these years - When we were here _

_ Are ending, but I'll always remember _

_ -Time Of Our Lives (Tyrone Wells) _

I shouldn’t have been drinking. Yet I was.

I sat at the counter of some run-down bar, slowly twirling the straw of my drink. All I’d been thinking about was him. That stupid man. That horrible, awful man I loved. That stupid Jonathan Crane.

When had he changed? Had it been when we were kids? Had it been when we apart? Thinking back, there had been small signs, but never had I thought he would do something as horrible as he did. 

“He never meant for me to be there,” I muttered to myself. “Bullshit. He probably enjoyed knowing I was afraid.”

I suppose that’s how he started down his descent into madness: fear. I knew Jonathan had a more than normal interest in it. I knew Jonathan was obsessed with his work, even if I didn’t know what it was about. I should have done something. But I didn’t. Somehow I convinced myself he was fine.

“How could I have been so blind?” I groaned.

“Blind to what?” a male voice asked from my right. A red-haired man sat beside me. Had he been there the whole time?

“None of your business,” I muttered before going back to my drink.

“Was it a man?” he pressed.

“What’s it to you?”

Did he not get that I wanted to be left alone?

“Is it not my civic duty as a gentleman to help a woman in distress?” the man asked. I decided to humor him.

“Yes. It was a man,” I told him.

“I figured as much. What was it he did, besides break your heart?”

“Got himself arrested,” I mumbled, recalling our last meeting. Recalling the way Jonathan didn’t seem to care about me.

“Oh, that’s tough,” the man said in a way that made it seem like he didn’t actually care. “Might I ask for his name?”

“What for?”

“To ease my curiosity.”

“Jonathan Crane,” I said with a sigh.

“The Scarecrow? You’re his girlfriend?” he said, sounding shocked. The Scarecrow? Is that what they were calling him now? I never would have guessed an old taunt would become a name feared amongst the people of Gotham. 

“Was,” I corrected.

“Well, I suppose you’re lucky that I am here,” he announced, a note of cockiness present in his tone.

“How do you figure?” I asked, still unsure of the man.

“I’m sure by the time you leave you’ll have forgotten all about him. I am always willing to spare my time for a conversation with a beautiful woman,” the man said, winking as he did. I tried to fight back a smile but failed.

The man had been right. As time went on, thoughts of Jonathan Crane left my mind. The man was good company; he was intelligent, charming, and admittedly attractive. He was cocky and perhaps had a bit too large of an ego, but he was nonetheless harder to talk to. Edward talked about things that were way above my understanding, but I listened anyway. It was astounding how much this man knew. I talked about my job and my investigation of Arkham. He’d read the story. He told me it was an impressive feat of detective work from me.

I let the man walk me from the bar until it was time for us to part ways. As he was about to leave, I realized I never got his name, nor given him mine.

“Wait!” I called him. “I never gave you my name. I’m Amber Connery.”

I held out my hand for him to take. As he did, he gave me his name.

“Pleased to meet you, Amber. My name is Edward Nygma.”

  1. Nigma. I thought it was a clever play on words. I’m sure he knew that.



Walking home by myself was a dangerous thing to do. I knew that. Then again, I was living in Gotham.  No matter where I went, I wouldn't be safe. Not even with the people closest to me.

Some would call the new start of my life a middle. I didn’t believe in middles. Only befores and afters. And this was a before. What the after would look like could only be imagined. 

I jumped at the sound of a gunshot. At least, I thought it was a gunshot.

I could only hope the next after would be better than the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end! I'd like to thank you all for sticking with me! But it's not the end; if you haven't noticed, this only part of of a rather long series I have planned with even more characters. Book 2 will also be about Amber. I love her character way too much to let her go; she will be the most recurring character.
> 
> Hope to see you all in Book 2, Everything She Saw!


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